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VANDERDECKEN 


I1NIY.  OF  CALIF.  LIBltAitY.  LOS  ANGELES 


Vanderdecken 


By 
H.  DE  VERB  STACPOOLE 

AUTHOR  OF  "SATAN,"  "THE  BLUE  LAGOON," 
"THE  BEACH  OF  DREAMS."  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
ROBERT  M.  McBRIDE  &  COMPANY 

1922 


Copyright,     1922,    by 
ROBERT  M.  Mt  BRIDE  &  Co. 


Printed        t  n       the 

United     States     of     America 


Published.      1922 


VANDERDECKEN 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN 

GEORGE  DU  CANE  was  writing  a  letter  in 
the  smoking  room  of  the  Bohemian  Club, 
San  Francisco. 

George  was  an  orphan  with  guardians.  Twenty- 
four  years  and  five  months  of  age,  his  property 
would  not  be  decontrolled  for  another  seven 
months  when,  on  his  twenty-fifth  birthday,  he 
would  find  himself  the  actual  possessor  of  some- 
thing over  two  million,  five  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  Old  Harley  du  Cane,  George's  father, 
had  made  his  money  speculating.  He  had  no 
healthy  business  to  leave  to  his  son  and  no  very 
healthy  reputation.  He  had  ruined  thousands  of 
men  whom  he  had  never  seen  and  never  heard  of, 
he  had  escaped  ruin  countless  times  by  the  skin  of 
his  teeth,  he  had  wrecked  railways;  his  life 
was,  if  logic  counts,  a  long  disgrace,  and  in  a 
perfect  civilization  he  would  have  been  hanged. 
All  the  same  he~was  a  most  lovable  old  man, 
generous,  warm-hearted,  hot-tempered,  high- 
coloured,  beautifully  dressed ;  always  with  a  cigar 
in  his  mouth  and  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole,  his 


2132840 


2  VANDERDECKEN 

hat  tilted  on  one  side  and  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
for  any  unfortunate. 

Only  for  his  great  battle  with  Jay  Gould,  he 
might  have  died  worth  ten  million.  He  reckoned 
that  he  died  poor,  and,  dying,  he  tied  up  his 
property  in  the  hands  of  two  trustees,  as  I  have 
hinted.  "To  keep  you  from  the  sharks,  George." 

George  didn't  bother.  Wannamaker  and 
Thelusson,  the  two  trustees,  gave  him  all  the 
money  he  wanted  and  the  world  all  the  fun.  A 
juvenile  replica  of  old  Harley  on  the  outside,  he 
was  not  unlike  him  on  the  in;  he  had  something 
better  than  wealth,  than  good  looks,  even  than 
health,  a  radium  quality  inherited  from  his  father 
that  kept  him  far  younger  than  his  years.  When 
Harley  du  Cane  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-six 
from  a  surfeit  of  ice  cream  following  the  excite- 
ment of  a  base-ball  match,  Cazenove,  the  broker, 
reading  out  the  news  to  his  family  said  the 
reporters  had  got  the  age  wrong,  for  Harley 
wasn't  more  than  nine;  and  he  was  right.  The 
Great  Bear,  to  give  him  his  name  in  the  Stock 
Market,  in  many  respects  wasn't  more  than  nine. 

George,  having  finished  his  letter,  touched  an 
electric  bell.  A  waiter  approached. 

"Waiter,"  said  George,  "bring  me  an — Oh, 
damn  it!"  Egg  flip  had  been  on  his  tongue  and 
prohibition  had  risen  in  his  mind.  The  waiter 
waited.  He  was  used  to  orders  like  this  of  late. 
"Lemonade,"  said  George. 

He  got  up  and  moved  to  where  some  men  were 


THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN  3 

seated  near  one  of  the  windows.  Cyrus  Reid,  the 
poet;  Carolus,  the  musician;  Abrahams,  the 
artist.  A  few  months  ago  these  three  would  have 
been  fighting,  no  doubt,  over  the  merits  of  Henri, 
Matisse  or  the  possibilities  of  Cubist  music.  To- 
day they  were  just  talking  about  how  dry  they 
were  and  of  the  great  drought  that  had  struck 
San  Francisco.  Reid  was  mostly  a  coffee  drinker, 
an  occasional  glass  of  beer  satisfied  Carolus,  and 
Abrahams  was  all  but  teetotal,  yet  they  were 
filled  with  discontent.  George  sat  down  with 
them  and  listened  to  them  and  drank  his  lemonade 
and  absorbed  their  gloom.  Prohibition  may  be 
good  or  it  may  be  bad,  but  there  is  one  undoubted 
fact  about  it,  it  doesn't  improve  the  social  life  of 
a  club.  Whilst  they  were  talking,  Hank  Fisher 
came  in.  Hank  was  twenty-three  or  so;  thin, 
tanned,  hollow-cheeked,  he  looked  like  the  mixture 
of  a  red  Indian  and  an  East  coast  Yankee. 

He  had  been  born  in  New  Hampshire,  served  in 
a  whaler,  driven  an  engine,  waited  in  a  cafe, 
hoboed,  stoked  a  Stockton  river  boat,  canned  in  a 
cannery.  He  had  educated  himself,  in  a  wild  sort 
of  way  that  produced  flowers  of  the  mind  in  an 
extraordinary  pattern;  he  was  both  a  Socialist 
and  an  individualist.  There  was  nothing  that  the 
hands  of  men  could  do  that  the  hands  of  Hank 
couldn't.  He  could  make  boots  or  a  fishing-net  or 
mend  a  watch,  he  had  invented  and  patented  a 
rat  trap  that  brought  him  in  a  small  income,  and 
he  had  the  specifications  in  hand  of  a  clock  that 


4  VANDERDECKEN 

would  go  for  forty-eight  years  without  winding. 
He  had,  also,  in  the  last  year  or  two,  made  quite  a 
sum  of  money  speculating  in  real  estate.  But 
the  crowning  point  of  Hank,  and  the  thing  that 
had  secured  his  entry  to  the  Bohemian  Club  and 
endeared  him  to  all  imaginative  people,  was  the 
fact  that  he  was  a  little  bit  mad.  Not  crazy  mad, 
but  pleasantly  mad.  A  madness  so  mixed  with 
cold  sanity  and  streaks  of  genius  that  you  could 
scarcely  call  it  madness. 

"You  can't  tell  what  he'll  do  next,"  was  the 
best  decription  of  him,  given  by  Cedarquist, 
barring  Reid's  "He's  an  opal." 

The  opal  sat  down  with  scarcely  a  word  and 
listened  to  Abrahams,  who  was  holding  forth. 
Said  Abrahams : 

"Yes,  sir,  you  may  talk  and  talk,  but  you 
haven't  got  to  the  bed-rock  of  the  subject.  The 
fact  is  the  world  never  struck  universal  unrest 
till  it  struck  universal  lime-juice.  If  you  could 
dig  up  the  Czar  and  make  him  talk,  I'll  bet  he'd 
back  me.  Talk  of  crime  waves,  when  has  crime 
ever  waved  before  as  it's  waving  now?  Look  at 
the  hold-ups,  look  at  New  York,  look  at  Chicago, 
look  at  this  town.  Look  at  the  things  that  are 
done  in  the  broad  light  of  day.  Milligan's  raided 
yesterday  by  two  gunmen  and  the  place  cleared 
of  fifty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stuff  in  fifteen 
minutes.  Look  at  this  chap  Vanderdecken. ' ' 

"What's  he  been  doing?"  asked  Carolus. 

' '  Doing !    Don 't  you  read  the  papers  ? ' ' 


THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN  5 

"No,"  said  Carolus. 

" Doing.  Why  this  chap's  been  on  the  job  for 
the  last  six  months  and  there's  tw_entyzfiye 
thousand  dollars  reward  out  forjiim.  Yacht 
raiding,  that's  what  he's  been  doing,  down  the 
coast.  Holding  up  pleasure  yachts,  comes  along 
in  a  high  power  motor  boat  sometimes  and  some- 
times he  uses  a  fishing  boat  and  no  one  knows 
where  he  changes  ship  or  how  he  does  it  or  how 
many  are  working  with  him." 

'  *  Oh, ' '  said  Carolus.  * '  Well  he 's  doing  nothing 
new.  If  you  were  as  old  as  I  am,  you'd  remember 
Mullins,  away  back  in  the  middle  'nineties,  he  used 
to  do  the  same  thing.  Got  caught  and  I  forget 
what  they  gave  him.  There's  nothing  new  under 
the  sun." 

"Well,  they  hadn't  wireless  in  the  middle 
'nineties,"  said  Abrahams,  "and  wireless  doesn't 
hold  Vanderdecken,  he  skips  over  it  or  gets  under 
it.  Dutch  Pete  is  his  real  name,  they  say,  but 
someone  labeled  him  Vanderdecken  from  the 
'  Flying  Dutchman '. ' ' 

"I  know  all  about  the  fellow,"  cut  in  Hank 
Fisher,  "know  him  from  his  toe-nails  up.  He's 
precious  small  potatoes,  too.  Lord,  what  a  lot  of 
misinformation  manages  to  get  about.  Dutch 
Pete  wasn't  his  name  to  start  with,  either. 
Amsterdam  Joe  was  his  name.  He  came  from 
Hamburg  and  started  here  loading  grain  at 
Brookland  Creek,  then  he  got  loose  on  the  front — 
in  with  McKay  and  that  lot — managed  a  whisky 


6  VANDERDECKEN 

joint  and  got  in  trouble  over  something  or  other, 
and  squared  it  and  got  into  the  Fish  Patrol  and 
got  fired  for  colluding  with  the  Greeks  in  setting 
Chinese  sturgeon  lines.  Then,  after  the  war,  he 
managed  to  get  some  sort  of  an  old  boat  and 
cleared  out  of  here.  He's  down  south  and  I 
could  put  my  finger  on  him  if  I  wanted  to.  Shark 
fishing  is  what  he  started  on  and  he's  held  up  a 
two  cent  yacht  or  two,  there's  no  doubt  about 
that,  but  as  for  motor  boats  and  Flying  Dutchmen, 
that's  all  the  newspaper  talk.  They've  embroid- 
ered on  him  till  he  looks  like  a  king.  Dutch  Pete 
was  a  different  chap  altogether,  but  he's  not 
about  now.  I  saw  him  shot.  It  was  in  a  dust-up 
at  San  Leandro." 

"Have  you  seen  the  papers  this  morning!" 
asked  Abrahams. 

"Nope." 

"Well,  Vanderdecken,  or  Amsterdam  Joe,  or 
whatever  you  call  him,  has  held  up  the  Satanita 
as  she  was  coming  up  from  Avalon.  She's  no  two 
cent  yacht,  she's  all  of  eight  hundred  tons.  He 
went  through  her  and  skipped  with  ten  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  stuff." 

"Give  us  the  yarn,"  said  Hank. 

"Oh,  it  was  as  easy  as  pie.  Connart  was 
coming  up  in  the  Satanita — got  his  wife  with  him 
too — and  somewhere  off  St.  Luis  Obispo  they 
sighted  a  yawl.  She  wasn't  more  than  forty  or 
fifty  tons  and  was  lying  hove  to  with,  her  Hag 
half  masted.  They  stopped  the  engines,  like  fools, 


THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN  7 

and  the  yawl  sent  a  boat  on  board.  Two  fellows 
came  over  the  side.  One  fellow  put  an  automatic 
pistol  to  Connart's  head  and  the  other  man  with 
another  automatic  covered  the  officer  on  the 
bridge.  There  was  nothing  on  board  the  Satanita 
but  a  deck  gun  and  a  nickel  plated  revolver,  so 
she  was  helpless.  Then  two  more  fellows  came  on 
board  from  the  boat  and  went  through  her.  They 
smashed  up  the  wireless  first.  Then  they  skipped 
and  that  old  broken-down  looking  yawl  went  off 
to  the  south  under  an  auxiliary  engine. ' ' 

"And  why  the  blazes  didn't  they  chase  and  ram 
her?"  asked  Hank. 

"Couldn't.  The  rudder  was  jammed.  The 
fellows  in  the  boat  had  done  some  tinkering  work 
to  it.  It  took  them  two  days  to  get  it  right,  and 
they  can't  even  give  a  full  description  of  the  men, 
for  they  wore  caps  with  slits  in  them.  Pulled  the 
caps  over  their  faces  as  they  came  aboard  and 
looked  through  the  slits. ' ' 

"I  expect  the  Navy  will  take  it  in  hand,"  said 
George  du  Cane.  "A  couple  of  destroyers  will 
soon  run  them  down  wherever  they  are  hidden." 

Hank  Fisher  laughed.  "You  might  as  well  go 
hunting  for  an  honest  man  in  Market  Street  with 
a  couple  of  rat  terriers,"  said  Hank.  "First,  you 
wouldn't  find  him,  second  he  wouldn't  be  a  rat. 
Why,  that  auxiliary  yawl  is  either  at  the-  bottom 
by  now,  or  converted  into  something  else — and  the 
guys  on  board  her,  do  you  think  they're  traveling 
about  the  Pacific  with  their  slit  caps  over  their 


8  VANDERDECKEN 

faces  waiting  for  a  destroyer  to  fetch  them  home? 
What  did  you  say  the  reward  was — twenty-five 
thousand?  You  wait  one  minute. " 

He  rose  up  and  left  the  room. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Hank  now?"  asked 
George. 

"Search  me,"  replied  Abrahams,  "unless  he's 
gone  off  to  'phone  the  police  all  about  Vander- 
decken  being  Amsterdam  Joe  and  his  descrip- 
tion." 

"He'd  never  do  that,"  said  Carolus.  "He's 
too  chivalrous;  you  fellows  don't  know  Hank.  I 
don't  rightly  know  him  myself.  He's  a  contradic- 
tion, something  as  new  as  wireless  and  as  old  as 
Don  Quixote,  but  the  Don's  there  all  the  time.  I 
saw  him  giving  his  arm  to  an  old  woman  in 
Market  Street  the  other  day;  looked  like  a 
washerwoman.  She'd  tumbled  down  and  hurt  her 
leg  or  something  and  there  was  Hank  handing 
her  like  a  duchess  on  to  a  car.  He  believes  in  the 
sanctity  of  womanhood — told  me  so  once." 

"And  he  believes  in  the  rights  of  man,"  said 
Abrahams,  "but  he'd  beat  you  out  of  your  back 
teeth  in  one  of  his  infernal  land  speculations." 

"And  then  buy  you  a  new  set,"  said  Carolus, 
"and  swindle  the  dentist  out  of  a  commission  on 
the  deal.  Not  that  he  cares  for  money." 

"Oh,  no,  he  doesn't  care  for  money,"  said 
Abrahams.  "I'll  admit  that,  but  he's  a  pirate 
all  the  same.  It's  his  romantic  temperament, 


THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN  9 

maybe,  mixed  up  with  his  New  England  ancestry. 
Here  he  is." 

"Boys,"  said  Hank,  as  he  approached  the 
group,  "it's  true  enough,  I've  been  on  the 
'phone;  there's  twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
reward  out  for  the  Dutchman,  half  put  up  by  the 
Yacht  Clubs.  I'm  out." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Abrahams, 

"To  catch  him,"  said  Hank. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  PROPOSITION 

HE  sat  down  and  lit  a  cigarette.  The  others 
showed  little  surprise  or  interest,  with 
the  exception  of  George  du  Cane. 

It  seemed  to  George  that  this  was  a  new  kind  of 
proposition  coming  in  these  dull  times. 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  said  he. 

"I  sure  am,"  said  Hank. 

Abrahams,  who  was  over  forty  with  an  expand- 
ing waist-line,  and  Carolus,  who  was  a  creature 
dead  when  divorced  from  cities  and  the  atmos- 
phere of  Art,  laughed. 

Hank  cocked  his  eye  at  them.  Then  he  rose  to 
his  feet.  "I  was  joking,"  said  Hank,  "believe  I 
could  make  you  ginks  swallow  anything.  Well, 
I'm  off,  see  you  to-morrow." 

George  du  Cane  followed  him  out. 

In  the  street  he  linked  arms  with  him. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Hank. 

"Wherever  you  are,"  said  George. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  the  office,"  said  Hank. 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  George.  "I've  got  an 
idea." 

10 


11 


1  'What's  your  idea?"  asked  Hank. 

"I'll  tell  you  when  we  get  to  your  office," 
replied  George. 

Fisher  and  Company's  offices  were  situated  as 
near  heaven  as  the  ordinary  American  can  hope 
to  reach.  An  express  elevator  shot  them  out  on 
a  concrete-floored  landing  where  the  faint  clacking 
of  typewriters  sounded  from  behind  doors  marked 
with  the  names  of  business  firms.  The  Bolsover 
Trust  Syndicate;  Moss  Muriatti  and  Moscovitch; 
Fisher  and  Co. 

The  Fisher  offices  consisted  of  two  rooms,  the 
outer  room  for  a  typewriter  and  an  inner  room 
for  the  company. 

The  company's  room  contained  four  chairs 
and  a  desk-table,  a  roll-topped  desk  and  a 
cuspidor.  The  bare  walls  were  hung  with  maps 
of  towns  and  places.  There  was  a  map  of  San 
Francisco  and  its  environments  reaching  from 
Valego  to  Santa  Clara.  There  were  maps  of 
Redwood  and  San  Jose,  Belmont  and  San  Mateo, 
Oakland  and  San  Eaf ael  and  others. 

George  looked  at  the  maps,  whilst  Hank  sat 
down  and  looked  at  the  morning's  correspondence 
spread  on  the  table  by  the  office  boy. 

These  maps  and  town  plans,  marked  here  and 
there  with  red  ink,  spoke  of  big  dealings  and  a 
prosperous  business;  the  trail  of  Fisher  and 
Company  was  over  them  all.  They  interested 
George  vastly.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  been 
in  the  office. 


12  VANDERDECKEN 

"I  say,  old  man/'  said  George,  suddenly 
breaking  silence  and  detaching  himself  from  the 
maps.  "I  didn't  know  you  had  a  company 
attached  to  you.  Where 's  the  company  f ' ' 

"Well,  I  expect  it's  in  Europe  by  this,"  said 
Hank,  laying  down  the  last  of  his  letters.  "Or 
sunning  itself  on  Palm  Beach,  or  listening  to  the 
band  somewhere.  It  bolted  with  the  cash  box 
three  weeks  ago,  leaving  me  a  thousand  dollars  to 
carry  on  with. ' ' 

"Good  Lord,"  said  George,  horror-stricken,  yet 
amazed  at  the  coolness  of  the  other  and  the  way 
he  had  managed  to  keep  his  disaster  concealed 
from  all  and  sundry;  for  at  the  Club  Hank  was 
considered  a  man  of  substance,  almost  too  much 
substance  for  a  Bohemian. 

"It's  true,  "said  Hank. 

"How  many  men  were  in  it?" 

"No  men,  it  was  a  woman." 

"You  were  in  partnership  with  a  woman!" 

"Yep." 

"Well,  she  might  have  done  worse,"  said 
George,  '  *  she  might  have  married  you. ' ' 

Hank,  by  way  of  reply,  took  a  photograph  from 
a  drawer  in  the  table  and  handed  it  to  George, 
who  gazed  at  it  for  half  a  minute  and  handed  it 
back. 

"I  see,"  said  he,  "but  what  made  you  have 
anything  to  do  with  her?" 

The  town  lot  s£eculator_tilted  back  in  his  chair 
and  lit  a  cigarette. 


THE  PROPOSITION  13 

"Driscoll  was  her  name,"  said  he,  "and  she 
didn't  care  about  her  looks,  she  used  to  boast  she 
could  put  a  whole  potato  in  her  mouth.  She  was 
my  landlady  when  I  lived  in  Polk  Street  and  she 
ran  a  laundry  and  had  a  hand  in  ward  politics  and 
the  whole  of  the  Irish  contingent  at  her  back.  She 
had  a  better  business  head  on  her  than  any  man  in 
'Frisco,  and  when  I  made  some  money  over  that 
trap  of  mine,  she  started  me  in  the  real  estate 
business.  We  were  good  partners  and  made  big 
money — and  now  she's  bolted." 

"Have  you  set  the  police  after  her?" 

"Gosh,  no,"  said  Hank.  "What  do  you  take 
me  for?  She's  a  woman." 

"But  she's  boned  your  money." 

"Half  of  it  was  hers,  and  anyhow,  she's  a 
woman.  I'm  not  used  to  kicking  women  and  I 
don't  propose  to  learn." 

George  remembered  what  Carolus  had  said 
about  the  Female  Sanctity  business  and  did  not 
pursue  the  subject. 

Hank  smoked,  his  chair  tilted  back,  his  heels  on 
the  desk.  Euin  seemed  to  sit  easy  on  the  town  lot 
speculator.  His  mind  seemed  a  thousand  miles 
away  from  San  Francisco  and  worry. 

Then  George  broke  into  his  reverie.  "Look 
here,"  he  said,  "I  told  you  in  the  street  I  had  an 
idea.  Are  you  going  after  this  man  Vander- 
decken  or  not?" 

"And  what  if  I  am?"  asked  the  cautious  Hank. 

"Then  I'll  join  you,  if  you'll  let  me." 


14  VANDERDECKEN 

"Well,"  said  Hank,  "I  told  those  two  ginks  at 
the  Club  I  wasn't.  They've  no  understanding, 
for  one  thing,  and  for  another  I  don't  want  them 
to  be  spreading  the  news.  But  I  am.  For  one 
thing  I  want  a  holiday  and  for  another  I  want 
that  twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  Twenty,  I 
mean,  for  it  will  take  me  all  of  five  thousand 
dollars  to  catch  him." 

"How  much  have  you!" 

"One  thousand,  about,  and  then  I've  got  my 
royalties  for  the  trap  coming  in." 

"That  rat  trap  thing!" 

"Yep." 

"How  much  does  it  bring  you  a  year,  if  it's  not 
rude  to  ask? " 

"Well,  I  reckon  to  net  in  royalties  about  one 
thousand  five  hundred  a  quarter  and  the  returns 
are  rising.  The  British  are  taking  to  it  and 
Seligmann's  had  an  order  for  five  thousand  traps 
only  last  week  for  London  delivery.  I  can  borrow 
from  them  in  advance  of  royalties." 

George  sat  down  on  a  chair  and  nursed  his 
knee  and  contemplated  the  toe  of  his  boot. 
George,  despite  his  easy  way  of  life  was  no  fool 
in  money  matters. 

"You  are  going  to  spend  five  thousand  in 
trying  to  catch  this  pirate,"  said  he,  "and  if  you 
fail,  where  will  you  be!" 

"Ask  me  another,"  said  Hank. 

George  took  his  cigarette  case  from  his  pocket, 


THE  PROPOSITION  15 

chose  a  cigarette  and  lit  it;  the  two  sat  for  a 
moment  in  silence. 

"Besides,"  said  George  suddenly,  "you'll  most 
likely  get  a  bullet  through  your  head." 

"Most  like,"  said  Hank. 

"To  say  nothing  of  weather.  You  know  what 
Pacific  weather  is  on  the  coast  here,  and  you'll 
have  to  lay  up  maybe  months  waiting  for  the  fellow 
in  a  cramped  boat  with  beastly  grub." 

"Sure,"  said  Hank. 

"Well,  there  it  is,  the  whole  thing's  mad,  rotten 
mad,  it  hasn't  a  sound  plank  in  it.  What  did  you 
mean  dragging  me  here  with  that  proposition  for 
bait?" 

"Me  drag  you!"  cried  the  outraged  Hank. 

"Yes,  you,  doped  me  and  dragged  me  here  with 
your  talk  at  the  Club,  turned  my  head  till  I  'm  sure 
not  sane,  for  I'm  in  this  business  with  you  up  to 
the  neck.  I'm  as  mad  as  yourself,  I  want  to  be 
off,  I  wouldn't  be  out  of  it  for  ten  thousand 
dollars,  though  I'm  hanged  if  I  know  what  the 
draw  is." 

'  *  Man  hunting, ' '  said  Hank. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  PLAN 

THE  town  lot  speculator  took  his  feet  down 
from  the  desk  and  George,  flinging  his 
cigarette  away,  got  up,  took  a  few  paces, 
and  altered  his  position  by  straddling  his  chair, 
leaning  his  arms  on  the  back.  It  was  a  favourite 
trick  of  old  Harley  du  Cane.  When  big  things 
were  on,  and  if  there  was  a  crisis  and  he  was 
seated  and  talking  to  you,  ten  to  one  he'd  get  up, 
take  a  few  paces,  and  then  sit  down  again 
straddling  his  chair  as  if  he  were  riding  a  horse. 

* '  Well,  that 's  settled, ' '  said  George.  ' '  I  'm  with 
you.  What's  your  plan?  You  said  you  knew 
where  this  man  is  and  could  put  your  finger  on 
him." 

"I  guess  I  was  talking  through  my  hat,"  said 
Hank.  " It's  a  way  I  have,  times." 

"Then  how  the  devil  are  you  going  to  find 
him?" 

"It's  a  way  I  have,  times,"  said  Hank,  not 
seeming  to  hear  the  other,  "but  I'm  never  far 
wrong  when  I'm  talking  that  way.  I  don't  know 
where  the  chap  is  any  more  than  I  know  where 

16 


THE  PLAN  17 

Solomon's  aunt's  buried,  but  I've  a  feeling  that 
his  haunt's  round  about  the  islands  down  Santa 
Catalina  way.  I  know  all  the  coast  running  from 
Monterey  right  to  Cape  St.  Lucas.  I  had  a  tenth 
share  in  a  shark  boat  once,  and  I've  nosed  into 
all  the  cricks  and  corners  right  to  the  end  of 
Lower  California,  and  I've  got  a  feeling  that  the 
Dutchman's  using  the  Channel  Islands  and  that 
we'll  fetch  him  somewhere  about  there,  if  we're 
clever." 

"You're  sure  it's  Amsterdam  Joe  we're  after!" 

"No,  I'm  not." 

"But  great  Scott,  you  said  you  were  sure." 

"I  was  talking,"  said  Hank,  "the  words  were 
hit  out  of  me  by  something  outside  my  head,  but 
I'm  never  far  wrong  when  I'm  taken  like  that. 
I'd  bet  a  thousand  to  a  nickel  it's  him,  but  that's 
not  being  sure.  You  see,  it's  not  Dutch  Pete,  for 
I  saw  him  shot  with  my  own  eyes,  but  the  affair 
was  hushed  up,  and  they  gave  his  name  different 
in  the  papers.  He  was  hand  and  fist  with  Joe  and 
that's  what  put  the  wrong  idea  about.  Joe  went 
south  more  than  nine  months  ago,  superintending 
a  fishery  or  something  down  there,  and  he  hasn't 
come  back,  and  he's  just  the  chap  to  fill  this  bill — 
and  there  you  are." 

"Well,  it  doesn't  much  matter,"  said  George, 
"as  long  as  a  man's  there  and  will  put  up  a  fight 
and  we  have  the  fun  of  catching  him.  Now  then, 
Hank  F.,  what  are  your  plans'?  Spit  them  out." 

"Well,    said    Hank,    "my    plans    are    simple 


18  VANDERDECKEN 

enough.  I'm  going  to  drop  down  to  the  Islands 
and  do  some  fishing  and  water-lily  around  picking 
up  information  where  I  can.  There's  all  sorts  of 
boats  down  south  of  the  Islands,  doing  shark 
fishing  and  going  after  the  sulphur-bottom 
whales;  and  at  Avalon  and  San  Clemente  and 
places  there's  lots  of  fellows  I  can  pick  up  infor- 
mation from.  A  police  boat  or  a  destroyer  would 
find  nothing  but  shut  heads,  but  a  man  that  knows 
how  to  go  about  it  can  tap  the  wires.  Why,  you 
wouldn't  believe  how  news  goes  about  along  the 
coast,  and  the  long-shoremen  are  pirates  by 
instinct.  There's  not  one  of  them  isn't  backing 
old  man  Vanderdecken.  Pirates  by  instinct,  only 
they  haven't  the  pluck  of  their  opinions. 

"Well,  when  I've  got  this  bird's  fishing 
waters,  I'm  going  to  lay  in  them  and  cruise  round 
in  them  and  whistle  'Chase  me  Charlie'  till  he 
pounces,  or  maybe  I'll  be  able  to  put  my  finger  on 
the  creek  or  bay  or  wherever  it  is  he  makes  his 
port  of  call,  and  pounce  myself — no  knowing. ' ' 

"I  see,"  said  George. 

"I'm  blessed  if  I  do,"  said  Hank.  "It's  mighty 
problematical,  but  I've  got  the  feeling  in  my  toes 
that  I'm  going  to  collar  him." 

"Well,"  said  George,  "we've  got  so  far.  Now 
about  the  boat." 

"What  boat?" 

"Well,  you  don't  propose  to  swim  after  the 
Dutchman,  do  you!" 

"Well,"  said  Hank,  "if  one  cog  goes  wrong  in 


THE  PLAN  19 

this  business,  we  may  both  be  swimming  after  him, 
begging  to  be  took  aboard  and  him  using  us  for 
target  practice — but  I  'm  not  going  in  a  boat. ' ' 

"Then  what  the  devil  are  you  going  in?" 

"A  yacht.  Y.  A.  C.  H.  T.  Sixty  ton  schooner, 
auxiliary  engine,  white-painted  boat,  turning  a  bit 
cream  with  wear,  cabin  upholstered  in  red  plush, 
bird's-eye  maple  panels  let  in  with  pictures  of 
flowers — everything  up-to-date,  seemingly.  She 
jumped  into  my  head  at  the  Club  as  I  was  talking 
about  old  Vanderdecken,  that's  how  things  come 
to  me.  No  sooner  had  I  left  the  'phone  and  began 
talking  to  you  fellows  than  the  whole  of  this 
expedition  and  how  to  do  it  hit  me  on  the  head  like 
an  orange." 

"Well,  let's  get  back  to  business.  You  have 
your  eye  on  a  yacht,  but,  from  your  specification, 
fifty  thousand  dollars  is  more  like  what  you'll 
want  than  five.  What's  the  name  of  this  yacht?" 

"She's  not  exactly  a  yacht,"  said  Hank. 

"Then  what  is  she?" 

"She's  more  in  the  nature  of  an  optical 
delusion. ' ' 

George  had  patience.  He  had  also  plenty  of 
time  and  could  afford  to  let  Hank  play  about.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  come  really  in  touch 
with  the  town  lot  speculator's  mentality,  and  it 
interested  him.  His  own  position  began  to 
interest  him,  too.  He  had  pledged  himself  to  this 
expedition  and  he  would  no  more  draw  out  than 
old  Harley  du  Cane  would  have  drawn  out  of  one 


20  VANDERDECKEN 

of  his  frontal  attacks  on  Jay  Gould,  however 
dangerous. 

"Well,  you  are  going  to  chase  after  this 
Dutchman  in  an  optical  delusion, ' '  said  he.  "I 'm 
listening — go  on,  spit  out  your  meaning. ' ' 

Hank  rose  to  his  feet  and  took  his  hat. 

"Come  on,"  said  he,  "and  I'll  show  you  it." 


CHAPTER  IV 

TYBEBUCK 

THEY  left  the  building  and  struck  down 
Market  Street.  It  was  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  and  a  blazing  day.  Market 
Street  looked  the  same  as  ever — with  a  difference. 
It  seemed  to  George  that  the  whole  world  had 
somehow  a  different  tinge,  as  though  he  were 
looking  at  it  from  the  windows  of  a  lunatic 
asylum. 

The  people  in  the  street  all  seemed  to  be  bent  on 
business,  serious  and  sane  beyond  ordinary;  even 
the  loafers  and  pleasure-seekers  were  bathed  in 
this  atmosphere. 

Said  Hank,  as  they  crossed  the  street  towards  a 
block  of  buildings  topped  by  a  huge  sky  sign 
advising  people  to  smoke  Duke  Orlando  cigar- 
ettes : 

"Did  you  ever  read  about  the  one  horse  shay?" 

"Which!"  asked  George. 

"The  one  that  went  a  hundred  years  and  then 
bust  up." 

"No." 

"Well,  it  was  made  of  such  good  stuff  that  it 

21 


22  VANDERDECKEN 

couldn't  break  down,  not  one  part  before  another, 
so  when  the  time  came  it  busted  up  all  together. ' ' 

1  'What's  that  got  to  do  with  our  business?" 

' '  Oh,  I  was  just  thinking, ' '  said  Hank. 

They  were  in  the  building  now.  Hank  gave  a 
name  to  the  elevator  man,  and  they  were  whisked 
up  to  the  fourth  floor.  Here,  entering  an  office 
filled  with  the  clatter  of  typewriters,  Hank  asked 
for  Mr.  Tyrebuck,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  they 
were  shown  into  a  room  where  a  man  sat  facing 
them  at  a  desk  table,  a  heavy-jo wled,  bulging-eyed, 
fresh-coloured  man,  with  an  unlighted  cigar 
between  his  lips.  He  had  just  finished  with  a 
stenographer,  but  she  was  still  standing  waiting 
with  a  sheaf  of  notes  in  her  hand,  whilst  Tyrebuck, 
as  if  engaged  with  some  after-thought,  sat,  the 
cigar  pushing  out  on  his  under  lip  and  his 
prominent  eyes  staring  straight  at  the  newcomers 
without  seeing  them.  He  seemed  to  be  looking  at 
something  a  thousand  miles  away.  He  was.  He 
was  looking  at  Chicago  and  the  dial  of  the  Wheat 
Pit.  Then  he  came  to. 

"That  will  do,"  said  he  to  the  stenographer. 
"Well,  Hank,  how's  the  world  using  you?" 

George  was  introduced,  cigars  were  handed 
round  and  they  talked.  George  did  the  listening. 
Tyrebuck  owned  steamers  and  mines  and  was 
engaged  just  then  on  a  wheat  deal.  He  was  one 
of  the  busiest  men  on  the  Pacific  coast  and  one  of 
the  wealthiest,  but  he  found  time  to  talk  to  Hank. 
Tyrebuck  talked  as  if  he  had  absolutely  nothing 


TYREBUCK  23 

to  do.  They  talked  of  the  weather  and  President 
Wilson  and  Europe.  Hank,  who  had  been  in 
England  during  the  war,  outlined  a  plan  of  his 
for  taking  over  the  British  Empire,  electrifying 
it,  steam-heating  it,  fitting  it  with  elevators, 
speaking  tubes  and  American  business  methods. 
Then  he  rose.  "Well,  I  must  be  going,"  said 
Hank.  "But  say,  what  I  came  about  was  the 
Wear  Jack.  I  saw  her  only  day  before  yesterday 
down  at  Sullivan's  Wharf." 

"Oh,  did  you?"  said  Tyrebuck,  "blessed  if  I 
hadn't  clean  forgot  her.  Is  she  hanging 
together?" 

"Well,  she  was,  the  day  before  yesterday. 
I'm  open  to  hire  her." 

"What's  your  idea — put  her  on  wheels?" 

"Nope.  I've  got  an  expedition  on  down  south. 
You've  heard  of  this  man  Vanderdecken?" 

"Sure." 

1 '  Well,  I  'm  going  down  to  catch  him. ' ' 

"Humph,"  said  Tyrebuck,  "you'll  go  down 
right  enough  in  the  Wear  Jack  if  the  putty  gives." 

"That's  what  I  was  telling  Mr.  du  Cane,"  said 
Hank.  "She's  not  so  much  a  yacht  as  an  optical 
delusion.  She  looks  A  1,  but  isn't,  but  we're 
going  to  take  a  whale  boat." 

"Why  not  go  in  the  whale  boat?"  asked 
Tyrebuck.  "What  you  want  taking  the  Wear 
Jack  along — for  fun?" 

"It's  part  of  my  plan  to  have  a  yacht,"  replied 
the  other,  "and  she  looks  like  a  yacht — Oh,  she's 


24,  VANDERDECKEN 

not  so  bad — it  was  only  my  joke.  I  reckon  she'll 
hold  together  as  long  as  we  want  her,  the  sticks 
look  sound  enough." 

"Well,  she  mayn't  be  as  bad  as  she's  painted," 
agreed  Tyrebuck.  "I've  been  too  busy  to  bother 
with  her.  I  bought  her  as  old  junk,  thinking  to 
pull  off  a  deal,  and  had  her  fixed  up  by  Michelson 
and  advertised  her.  Her  lines  are  lovely,  there's 
no  denying  that.  You  remember  last  fall  I  took 
you  down  with  Cookson  to  look  at  her  and  he  went 
about  prodding  her  with  a  knife.  He  offered  four 
thousand  for  her." 

"Oh,  he  did,  did  he?"  said  Hank. 

"Well,  he  was  secretary  of  the  Brookland  Creek 
Yacht  Club  and  they  wanted  her  for  a  floating 
annex.  When  I  refused,  he  got  impudent  and 
said  the  members  wouldn't  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  deal  as  they  weren't  a  suicide  club. 
That  joke  got  about." 

"I  heard  it,"  said  Hank. 

"It  crabbed  her.  All  the  smarties  got  busy 
guying  her  and  me,  and  I  got  a  letter  from  a  chap 
calling  himself  Charon  and  offering  ten  dollars 
for  her  as  a  house  boat  on  the  Styx,  and  so  it 
went  on  till  everybody  forgot  her,  but  it  has 
dished  any  chance  of  a  deal.  Mention  her  to  any 
yachtsman  and  all  those  damned  old  jokes 
flutter  up  like  moths;  it's  like  a  woman's  reputa- 
tion. Once  it's  damaged,  there's  no  use  in  shaking 
it  out  of  the  window  and  putting  new  buttons  on 
it — there's  no  buyers." 


TYREBUCK  25 

Hank  agreed.  "Well,  what's  your  terms?" 
said  he  at  last. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars,"  said  Tyrebuck. 

"Is  she  insured?" 

"She's  insured  for  ten  thousand  dollars.  I 
pushed  her  through  with  the  insurance  agents  that 
do  my  steamboat  work." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  buy  her.  I  want  to 
charter  her." 

"Well,  I  can't  charter  boats,  not  even  to  you, 
Hank,  it's  against  my  principles.  Why,  if  I  were 
to  charter  the  old  Wear  Jack  and  the  fact  got 
round,  I'd  be  guyed  out  of  'Frisco.  Can't  you 
hear  them  at  the  Club  asking  me  how  the  long- 
shore business  was  doing  and  what  price  the  hire 
of  canoes.  No,  sir,  I've  had  enough  of  the  joke 
business  over  that  damned  sieve.  There  she 
sticks  till  I  sell  her  and  the  price  is  ten  thousand, 
not  a  cent  under." 

George  du  Cane  felt  the  lifting  of  a  weight 
from  his  mind.  The  deal  was  evidently  off.  He 
had  only  to  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  so  to  say, 
and  fetch  out  the  ten  thousand,  but  the  idea  of  a 
cruise  in  the  Wear  Jack  had  begun  to  fill  his  mind 
with  frank  and  honest  alarm.  Besides,  he  knew 
that  Hank  would  accept  no  outside  financial  help 
or  interference.  This  was  his  show,  to  be 
engineered  and  run  by  himself.  Feeling  safe,  he 
indulged  in  a  little  show  off. 

"That's  a  pity,"  said  he,  "I  shouldn't  have 


26  VANDERDECKEN 

minded  risking  it;  besides,  we'd  have  had  the 
whale  boat,  but  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped." 

He  spoke  without  knowledge  of  the  intricacy 
and  subtlety  of  the  rat  trap  inventor's  mental 
works. 

"I've  got  it,"  said  Hank,  "you  can  loan  her 
to  me." 

Tyrebuck,  who  seemed  suddenly  to  remember 
that  he  had  been  smoking  an  unlighted  cigar  all 
this  time,  was  in  the  act  of  striking  a  match.  He 
lit  the  cigar,  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  placed 
the  dead  match  carefully  on  a  tray  by  the  Billikin 
on  his  desk.  Then  he  said : 

"Well  I'm  damned,  Hank,  if  you  don't  take 
the  cake.  You  do  indeed,  you  do  indeed,  you 
take  the  cake  with  the  cherry  topknot.  You  come 
here  to  me  in  the  temple,  so  to  say,  of  business 
propositions — " 

"That's  what  I'm  bringing  you,"  said  Hank. 
"A  business  proposition  on  the  hook,  warranted 
sound,  free  from  scab — it's  a  buffalo." 

"Trot  out  your  buffalo,"  said  Tyrebuck. 

"Well,  it's  this  way,"  said  Hank.  "You  lend 
me  the  Wear  Jack.  If  she  busts  up  and  never 
comes  back,  you  get  your  insurance,  don't  you? 
If  we  bring  her  back  with  the  Dutchman  on  board, 
she's  a  hero  and  you  have  the  laugh  over  the 
whole  waterside.  Even  if  we  don't  collar  the 
Dutchman  and  come  back,  she  '11  have  proved  her- 
self seaworthy  and  I'll  give  her  a  certificate  all 


TYREBUCK  27 

round  the  town  that'll  sell  her  for  you  in  two 
hours." 

"Gosh!"  groaned  Tyrebuck,  "why  didn't  1 
insure  her  for  twenty  thousand?"  He  wallowed 
in  thought  for  a  moment,  then  he  said : 

"Hank." 

"Yep!" 

"D'you  want  a  partnership  in  a  shipping 
business?" 

"Nope." 

"Well,  if  you  do,  I'll  take  you  on.  I  will,  sure. 
Yes,  you  can  have  the  loan  of  her.  God  help  the 
Dutchman  if  you're  after  him.  Take  her  down 
south,  take  her  to  blazes,  take  her  anywhere  you 
like  and  now  get  out  of  my  office  for  I'm  busy. 
One  moment,  here's  my  card,  there's  a  watchman 
on  board  her,  show  him  this  and  he'll  let  you  go 
over  her  and  I'll  send  you  a  letter  to-night 
confirming  the  loan. ' ' 

Outside  Hank  took  George's  arm.  "Say,  Bud, 
you're  the  right  sort." 

"How  so?"  asked  George. 

"I  don't  believe  there's  another  man  in  'Frisco 
that  would  have  gone  in  with  me  on  this,  not  on 
that  specification  anyhow.  D'y'  know  the  Wear 
Jack  was  built  in  'sixty-seven." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'sixty-seven?" 

"Three  years  before  the  first  German-French 
war.  It's  on  the  shipwright's  plate  on  the  after 
gratings.  'Duncan  Matheson,  1867,'  that's  her 


28  VANDERDECKEN 

birth  certificate.  One  of  the  first  yacht-building 
firms  to  start  in  'Frisco.'* 

George  said  nothing,  but  he  was  thinking  a  lot. 

"I  had  it  in  my  mind  that  he'd  have  chartered 
her,"  went  on  Hank,  "it's  lucky  he  shied  at  that 
idea  for  I  hadn't  thought  of  the  whale  boat.  Why, 
between  the  whale  boat  and  provisions  and  crew, 
it'll  take  nearly  all  that  five  thousand  dollars." 

"You  wouldn't  care  to  take  a  bigger  boat?" 
said  George.  "I'll  finance  the  business  or  go 
shares." 

"Oh,  she's  big  enough,"  said  Hank,  "and  this 
is  my  show.  I'm  doing  it  on  my  own  hook;  other- 
wise I'd  have  no  interest  in  it.  I'm  awfully  lucky 
to  have  got  you,  for  you're  a  millionaire,  aren't 
you,  Bud,  and  you  won't  want  a  hand  in  the 
profits,  besides  being  the  only  man  in  'Frisco 
that'd  take  the  risks  for  the  fun  of  the  thing." 

"I  believe  I  am,"  said  George,  unenthusias- 
tically. 


CHAPTER  Y 

JAKE 

THE  water  front  of  San  Francisco  is  unique. 
The  long  wharves,  vibrating  to  the 
thunder  of  trade,  show  ships  from  all 
corners  of  the  world;  ships  from  China  and  the 
Islands,  from  Japan,  from  Africa,  from  India; 
tall  Cape  Homers,  held  to  the  wharves  with  wire 
mooring-lines,  lie  cleaning  their  bilges  or  lining 
their  holds  for  grain  cargoes  with  ships  for 
Durban,  ships  for  Cork,  steamers  for  Seattle  and 
Northern  ports.  Beyond  lies  the  bay,  blue  or 
wind-beaten  gray,  busy  with  a  shipping  life  of  its 
own,  with  Oakland,  six  miles  across  the  water, 
for  a  sister  port.  Beyond  the  bay  are  the  hills 
that  saw  the  desolation  before  the  first  Spaniards 
broke  the  ground  or  the  keel  of  the  first  sandal- 
wood  trader  rode  the  waters  of  the  Golden  Gate. 
Here  on  the  wharves  to-day,  it  takes  little 
imagination  to  see  the  ships  that  have  vanished 
and  the  traders  that  are  gone — the  South  Sea 
whaleman,  with  stump  top  gallant  masts  and 
boats  slung  out  on  wooden  davits,  the  Island 
schooner  of  the  old  days  when  the  Leonora  was  a 

89 


30  VANDERDECKEN 

living  ship  and  before  copra  was  handled  by 
companies. 

George  and  his  companion  struck  the  water 
front,  where  a  big  "turret  boat"  of  the  Clan  line 
was  moored,  the  Lascars  huddled  round  her 
foc'sle  engaged  in  preparing  fish  for  a  curry. 

"That's  the  canal,"  said  Hank.  "She's  come 
through  from  'Urope  with  a  cargo  and  now  she's 
loading  up  for  Bombay  or  somewhere.  Looks  as 
if  she'd  been  built  by  some  one  that'd  gone  bug- 
house, don't  she?  She's  built  like  that  to  save 
dues  going  through  the  Suez  Canal.  Wonder 
what  the  shipping  companies  will  be  up  to  in  the 
way  of  swindling  the  Panama.  I  tell  you,  Bud, 
there's  not  a  hair's  difference  between  humans 
and  rats  for  tricks  and  smart  ways." 

They  passed  along,  reaching  an  old  decayed  bit 
of  wharf  that  had  somehow  withstood  change  and 
reconstruction.  It  is  now  little  more  than  a 
landing  stage,  but  in  the  old  days,  under  the  name 
of  Rafferty's  wharf,  it  had  a  broad  front. 
Whalers  used  to  come  alongside  to  discharge  and 
clean  up  and  here  Bones'  Old  Sailors'  Lodging 
House,  half  tavern,  used  to  take  unfortunates  in 
and  do  for  them.  There  was  a  trap  door  from 
Bones'  back  parlour  to  the  water  below,  where 
boats  could  come  in  between  the  piles  and  ship  off 
sailor  men  blind  with  dope.  Then  it  became 
respectable  and  changed  its  name  to  Sullivan's. 

Alongside  this  stage  lay  the  Wear  Jack,  a  sixty 
ton  schooner,  fifty  feet  long.  The  watchman 


JAKE  31 

happened  to  be  on  deck,  a  thin  man  greatly  gone 
to  decay,  dressed  in  a  brown  sweater  and  wearing 
an  old  fur  cap.  He  was  seated  on  the  coaming  of 
the  skylight,  smoking. 

"Hullo,"  said  Hank.    "That  you,  Jake?" 

The  fellow  below  cocked  an  eye  up  and  evidently 
recognised  the  other,  but  he  didn't  move. 

"I'm  coming  aboard  to  overhaul  her,"  said 
Hank.  "I've  just  seen  Mr.  Tyrebuck,  here's  his 
card." 

"Well,  I'm  not  preventin*  you,"  said  Jake. 

Hank  came  down  the  ladder  followed  by  George. 

The  deck  of  the  Wear  Jack  ran  flush  fore  and 
aft.  N^glfij2t__sat_there  with  dirt  and  tobacco 
.juice.  Old  ends  of  ropeTay  about  and  spars  and 
main  blocks  that  had  seen  a  better  day,  and  bits  of 
newspaper  and  a  bucket  with  potato  peelings  in  it. 

Forward,  with  her  keel  to  the  sky,  lay  an  old 
broken  dinghy  that  might  have  come  out  of  the 
ark,  and  a  flannel  jumper  aired  itself  on  the  port 
rail.  No  wonder  that  prospective  buyers  sniffed 
and  went  off. 

The  soft  job  man  on  the  cabin  skylight  looked 
at  the  newcomers. 

' '  Where 's  your  cyard  f ' '  said  he. 

Hank  presented  the  card.  "Now  then,"  said 
Hank,  "if  you're  not  stuck  to  that  skylight  with 
cobbbler's  wax,  hoist  yourself  and  get  busy.  I'm 
going  right  all  over  her,  cabin  first.  Come  along. ' ' 

He  led  the  way  down. 

The  saloon  of  the  Wear  Jack  had  plenty  of  head 


32  VANDERDECKEN 

room,  six  feet  four  or  so;  there  were  bunks  on 
either  side  and  a  cabin  aft  shut  off  by  a  bird's- 
eye  maple  door.  The  upholstering  was  in 
crimson,  crimson  plush,  and  the  table  was  of 
mahogany.  Everything  was  of  the  best  and  little 
the  worse  for  wear,  but  over  everything  was  the 
gloom  of  the  murdered  sunlight,  filtering  in 
through  the  filthy  skylight  and  the  grimy  port- 
holes. Hank  opened  the  door  of  the  after  cabin. 

"Pretty  musty,  ain't  it?"  said  Jake.  "I 
kyan't  get  it  right,  nohow.  You  could  grow  mush- 
rooms on  that  bunk  with  the  damp,  though  where 
it  comes  from,  search  me.  Ain't  sea  damp,  it's 
damp  that  seems  to  have  got  in  the  wood.  The 
wood  sweats  when  the  weather's  a  bit  warm. 
Smells  like  an  old  cheese." 

"Well,  I  ain't  buying  a  scent  factory,"  said 
Hank. 

"Oh,  buyin'  her,  are  you?"  said  Jake,  "buyin' 
her."  He  said  nothing  more,  but  followed  as  Hank 
led  the  way  out  of  the  saloon.  They  inspected  the 
lavatory  and  bath,  the  galley,  and  then  they  came 
to  the  auxiliary  engine,  for  the  Wear  Jack  boasted 
an  auxiliary  engine,  a  neat  little  Kelvin  paraffin 
engine  in  a  canvas  jacket. 

"Does  the  engine  run?"  asked  Hank  of  the  soft 
job  man. 

"Run,"  said  Jake.  "Well  the  last  time  I  heard 
of  it  runnin',  it  run  off  its  bed  plates.  That's  the 
yarn  I  got  from  one  of  the  chaps  that  were  in  her 
on  her  last  cruise — but  maybe  it's  a  lie." 


JAKE  33 

"Now  look  here,"  said  Hank,  "you  deal 
straight  with  me  and  I'll  deal  straight  with  you 
to  the  tune  of  five  dollars.  I  don't  want  to  buy 
old  junk.  Is  there  anything  wrong  with  this 
ship?"  He  nudged  George  as  he  spoke. 

"Well,"  said  Jake,  "I  oughtn't  to  be  talking, 
I  s'pose,  I'm  put  here  to  show  her  to  parties,  but 
I  haven't  swore  to  say  nothing;  anything  wrong 
with  her?  Why  she's  all  wrong,  the  sticks  are 
carrots  and  the  plankin's  mush,  run  that  there 
injin  and  you'll  shake  her  to  pieces,  get  her  in  a 
beam  sea  and  she'll  strain  her  heart  open.  But 
mind  you  she's  fast,  her  lines  are  good,  but 
they're  just  lines  held  together  by  a  lick  of  paint." 

Hank  was  down  on  his  knees  testing  the 
planking  to  which  the  bed  plates  were  fixed  with 
his  knife. 

Then  he  rose  up  and  led  the  way  on  deck.  They 
examined  the  foc'sle.  It  had  accommodations  for 
six. 

Coming  out  of  the  foc'sle,  Hank  began  a  cruise 
of  his  own,  poking  about  here  and  there.  Then  he 
dived  down  below  again. 

When  he  came  on  deck  he  handed  Jake  the  five 
dollars  for  his  information  and  they  left  the  ship. 

He  took  George's  arm  as  they  went  along  the 
wharf. 

"Remember,"  said  he,  "what  I  told  you  to-day 
about  the  Wear  Jack  being  an  optical  delusion." 

"Yes,  and  you  seem  to  have  been  pretty  right." 

' '  Oh,  was  I  ?     Well,  way  back  in  my  head  I  was 


34  VANDERDECKEN 

thinking  different,  and  I  only  know  that  now.  I 
can't  explain  my  head  piece,  except  by  saying  it 
goes  by  instinct.  When  I  saw  Jake  the  other  day, 
he  must  have  climbed  right  down  into  my  mind 
and  sat  there  ever  since,  explaining  things  with- 
out my  knowing,  otherwise  I'm  doubtful  if  I'd 
have  been  so  keen  on  Tyrebuck  letting  me  have  the 
old  Jack.  Not  that  I  mind  risking  my  life,  but 
there  it  is,  I  wouldn't  have  been  as  keen  and 
maybe  wouldn't  have  pushed  the  deal  through. 
It's  the  biggest  deal  I've  ever  made.'* 

"How's  that?" 

"Why,  Bud,  can't  you  see  what's  wrong  with 
the  schooner?" 

"No." 

"Jake!  The  schooner's  as  sound  as  I  am. 
She's  not  as  young  as  she  used  to  be,  but  she's 
one  of  the  old  navy  that  was  built  to  wear.  I've 
examined  her.  You  remember  my  telling  you  that 
rats  couldn't  beat  humans  in  tricks?  Well,  it  was 
just  beginning  to  hit  me  then  that  maybe  all  that 
raffle  and  dirt  on  her  deck  and  all  the  yarns  I'd 
heard  about  her  were  put  out  by  Jake." 

"Why?" 

"Why,  to  keep  his  job.  He  don't  want  her  sold. 
She's  his  job.  Besides,  he's  been  collecting  five 
dollars  a  time,  and  maybe  more,  from  every  mug 
of  a  buyer  he's  given  'a  straight  tip'  about  her. 
That's  human  nature.  He  wouldn't  have  got  a 
cent  for  praising  her." 

1 '  Good  Lord !    What  a  scoundrel !    Why  didn  't 


JAKE  85 

you  tell  him  straight  out  instead  of  handing  him 
that  money?" 

"Not  me,"  said  Hank.  "Have  him  maybe 
sink  her  at  her  moorings  to-night,  or  play  some 
dirty  trick.  To-morrow,  with  Tyrebuck's  letter 
in  my  hand,  it  will  be  different.  But  only  for  him, 
I  wouldn't  have  got  her  for  nothing." 

"Only  for  yourself,  you  mean,"  said  George. 

"Well,  maybe,"  said  Hank. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JOE  BARRETT 

THE  DU  CANE  house  on  Pacific  Avenue  was 
— is,  in  fact — a  monstrous  affair,  at  least 
viewed  as  the  residence  of  a  single  man. 
Old  Harley's  tastes  were  big  and  florid  and  he  had 
entertained  on  a  large  scale ;  at  his  death  George 
would  have  sold  or  let  the  place,  but  something 
held  him,  maybe  Harley's  ghost,  for  the  old  man's 
personality  was  so  strong  that  it  had  imprinted 
itself  everywhere,  so  that  to  sell  or  let  the  place 
would,  so  George  felt,  have  been  equivalent  almost 
to  selling  or  letting  the  old  man  himself. 

George  had  closed  a  lot  of  the  rooms,  cutting 
down  the  servants  to  four  or  five  in  number, 
reserving  for  himself  only  a  sitting-room  and  a 
bedroom,  a  dressing-room  and  bathroom. 

This  morning,  the  morning  after  the  Jake  busi- 
ness, he  was  awakened  by  a  knock  at  the  door  and 
the  entrance  of  his  valet  Farintosh.  He  had 
picked  up  Farintosh  in  England  as  a  sort  of  curio. 
He  had  been  his  valet  at  the  Carlton  Hotel. 
Farintosh 's  father  had  been  own  man  to  the 
Marquis  of  Bristol,  his  grandfather  butler  to  the 

36 


JOE  BARRETT  87 

Duke  of  Hamilton,  his  brother  was  head  waiter  at 
Boodle's  and  his  sister  in  service  at  Sandringham 
House.  He  had  small  side  whiskers. 

Farintosh,  having  closed  the  door  cautiously, 
announced  that  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Fisher 
had  called  to  see  George  and  was  waiting  in  the 
sitting-room. 

''What's  the  time!"  asked  George. 

"Half  past  seven,  sir." 

George  lay  back  with  a  groan. 

1 1  Show  him  right  in  here, ' '  said  he. 

George,  on  parting  from  Hank  the  day  before, 
had  dined  with  some  friends  at  the  Palatial. 
Released  from  the  hypnotism  of  the  town  lot 
speculator,  he  had  begun  to  cool  ever  so  slightly 
over  the  Vanderdecken  business.  The  cooling  had 
gone  on  during  sleep.  Awakened,  an  hour  before 
his  usual  time,  to  the  ordinary  facts  of  life,  his 
feet  were  frankly  cold.  Shultz,  the  man  he  had 
dined  with  at  the  Palatial,  was  going  off  to  the 
Rockies  on  a  shooting  expedition  and  had  asked 
him  to  join.  There  would  be  plenty  of  fun  and 
plenty  of  sport — yet  he  had  to  refuse. 

But  there  was  something  more  than  that, 
Farintosh.  The  absolutely  sane  and  correct 
Farintosh  acted  as  an  underscore  to  the  whole  of 
this  business.  Farintosh,  whose  lips  rarely  said 
more  than  "Yes,  sir,"  or  "No,  sir,"  was  voiceful 
in  all  sorts  of  subtle  ways,  as,  for  instance,  when 
he  had  announced  a  "gentleman  of  the  name  of 
Fisher." 


38  VANDERDECKEN 

Entered  Hank,  suddenly,  backed  by  Farintosh, 
who  closed  the  door  on  the  pair. 

"Say,  Bud,  ain't  you  up  yet?"  cried  Hank. 
"Why,  I've  been  running  round  since  five.  Say — 
shall  I  pull  the  blinds?"  He  pulled  them  up, 
letting  in  a  blaze  of  early  sunlight.  Then  he 
looked  round  the  room,  took  in  its  magnificence 
and  seemed  to  wilt  a  bit.  He  sat  down  on  a  chair. 

"Who's  the  old  boy  with  the  whiskers?"  he 
asked. 

George  explained,  yawning,  and  Hank,  without 
waiting  to  hear  him  out,  went  on.  He  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  recovered  his  confidence  in 
himself ;  the  radium-like  activity  of  his  mind  broke 
forth,  and  he  talked  the  other  out  of  bed,  into  the 
bathroom  and  through  his  bathing  and  shaving 
operations.  If  you  had  been  listening,  you  would 
have  heard  George's  contributions  to  the  conver- 
sation, at  first  monosyllabic,  then  in  words  of 
more  than  one  syllable,  then  in  long  sentences.  He 
was  losing  his  cold  feet,  blossoming  again  in  the 
atmosphere  of  Hank,  for  Hank  was  at  once  an 
individual  and  an  atmosphere,  an  atmosphere 
wherein  extraordinary  ideas,  seeming  scarcely 
strange,  could  flourish  like  tropical  plants  in  a 
green  house. 

At  breakfast,  George  was  his  same  old  self 
again  and  as  keen  as  yesterday  about  the 
Dutchman  business. 

"I  didn't  tell  you,"  said  the  Eat  Trap  Inventor, 
"I've  been  cooking  it  up — but  I've  done  another 


JOE  BARRETT  39 

deal.  Y'  remember  I  said  I'd  want  five  thousand 
dollars  to  push  the  thing  through?  Well,  now 
listen,  you  saw  what  I  did  with  Tyrebuck,  well 
I've  done  better  with  Barrett.'* 

1  'Which  Barrett?" 

"Joe." 

Instantly  before  George's  eyes  arose  the  picture 
of  Barrett's  Stores  on  Market  Street  in  all  their 
vastness,  and  Joe  Barrett  himself,  dapper  and 
debonair.  Eccentric  by  nature,  Barrett  used  his 
eccentricity  as  a  means  toward  publicity.  If  he 
had  possessed  a  wooden  leg  or  a  glass  eye  or  a 
skeleton  in  his  cupboard,  he  would  without  doubt 
have  used  them  as  a  means  of  advertisement.  It 
was  the  only  thing  he  really  cared  for.  His 
business  was  less  to  him  than  the  advertising  of  it ; 
heaven  for  J.  B.  existed  only  as  a  background  for 
sky  signs  and  if  he  could  have  printed  "Barrett" 
on  the  moon  in  indelible  ink,  he  would  have  done 
so,  even  at  the  risk  of  being  skinned  alive  by  all 
the  poets. 

"Yes?"  said  George. 

"I  met  him  last  night  at  the  Bay  Club,"  said 
Hank,  "and  the  idea  struck  me.  He'd  provision 
us  better  and  cheaper  than  anyone  else  seeing 
that  I  know  him  so  well.  He's  a  sport,  and  I  just 
let  him  into  the  thing,  told  him  the  whole  business 
and  how  I'd  got  the  Wear  Jack  from  Tyrebuck 
for  nothing  and  how  you  were  joining  in.  Then  I 
opened  my  batteries  about  the  provisions.  I  want 
enough  for  six  men  for  three  months,  to  say 


40  VANDERDECKEN 

nothing  of  gasoline  and  oil  and  some  new  bunk 
bedding.  He  offered  to  do  it  for  two  thousand 
dollars.  I  offered  a  thousand,  to  take  him  down, 
and  he  forked  out  a  dollar.  'I'll  toss  you  two 
thousand  or  nothing,'  he  says.  Luck  seemed 
running  so  strong  I  took  him,  and  lost." 

"Oh,  you  lost." 

"One  minute.  'Best  out  of  three,'  said  he,  and 
tosses  again.  I  won;  then  he  tosses  again  and  I 
won.  You  see  he'd  got  it  in  his  head,  somehow, 
that  we  were  tossing  best  out  of  three,  either  that 
or  he  wanted  me  to  win.  I  tell  you,  he's  a  sport. 
The  Dutchman  proposition  had  taken  such  a  hold 
on  him  I  guess  he  wanted  to  help,  somehow. 
Anyhow,  there  it  is;  boat  and  provisions  won't 
cost  me  a  cent.  How's  that  for  luck!" 

"Good,"  said  George  laughing.  "And  now  if 
you  get  a  crew  for  nothing,  you  '11  be  fixed. ' ' 

"Well,  I've  got  you  for  one,"  said  Hank. 
"You  won't  cost  anything  and  you  can  steer." 

George  put  down  his  coffee  cup. 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  he,  "how  about  the 
navigation — are  you  any  good?" 

"Well,  I  don't  say  I'm  good,"  said  Hank,  "but 
I'm  good  enough  to  take  that  old  cat  boat  down 
the  coast  and  bring  her  back  again.  Now  if 
you're  finished,  let's  get,  for  I'm  just  longing 
to  begin  the  sweep  of  her  decks  and  start  clearing 
her  down  and  overhauling  the  rigging. ' ' 

"But  see  here,"  said  George,  "aren't  you  going 
to  get  men  to  work  on  her! " 


JOE  BARRETT  41 

' '  Yep.  I  'm  a  man,  aren  't  I,  and  you  're  another. 
Now,  you  get  it  in  your  head,  Bud:  I'm  starting 
out  in  this  business  to  catch  the  Dutchman,  not  to 
support  a  lot  of  bone  lazy  union  f umblers  for  half 
their  natural.  Why  you  don't  know  what  these 
dockyard  dandies  are,  you  don't  indeed.  Y' 
remember  Elihu  Stevens  when  he  started  out  on 
that  cruise  of  his  in  the  Maryland?  I've  seen  him 
near  crying  over  the  dollar-snatchers  at  work  on 
her.  They  robbed  him  of  time  and  they  robbed 
him  of  money,  and  they  damn  near  robbed  him  of 
his  life  with  their  rotten  spars  and  mush 
planking. ' ' 

"But  I'm  as  innocent  as  Solomon's  aunt  of  how 
rigging  should  be  fixed." 

"I'll  learn  you,"  said  Hank. 

George  was  silent.  He  seemed  thinking  about 
things.  Hank  leaned  forward  across  the  table. 

"Bud,"  said  he,  "you're  not  backing  out,  are 
you?  You're  not  afraid  of  a  bit  of  work?  Why, 
look  here,  Bud,  I'd  only  to  put  my  hand  in  your 
pocket,  so  to  speak,  and  pull  out  the  dollars  to  pay 
for  fitters  and  riggers  enough  to  fit  out  a  battle- 
ship, let  alone  the  Wear  Jack.  But,  leaving  alone 
being  robbed  of  time  and  dollars,  where 'd  be  the 
game  in  that  ?  I  'm  doing  this  thing  with  my  own 
hands  and  head  and  so  are  you.  Forget  money — 
it  spoils  everything." 

"You're  pretty  keen  after  it  all  the  same, 
Hank,"  said  George  laughing. 

"Yep.     When  I'm  chasing  it,   but   I'm   not 


42  VANDERDECKEN 

chasing  it  now,  I'm  chasing  the  Dutchman.  I'm 
not  thinking  of  the  twenty-five  thousand,  I'm 
thinking  of  the  Dutchman.  It's  a  game  and  I 
don't  want  money  to  help  me.  Why,  I'd  blush  to 
be  helped  by  money  in  chasing  a  man,  unless  he'd 
done  me  some  wrong.  When  I  get  this  fellow  by 
the  scruff,  I  wanta  say  to  myself,  *  Hank,  you  took 
this  man  by  the  work  of  your  own  hands  and  your 
own  head,  and  against  odds.  He  had  as  good 
chances  as  you,  and  you  didn't  shoot  him  sitting.' 
If  you  don't  take  me,  Bud,  then  we  don't  under- 
stand each  other  and  I'll  leave  you  to  that  gink 
with  the  whiskers  and  your  millionaire  ways  and 
start  off  on  my  lonesome." 

"We  understand  each  other,"  said  George, 
ringing  the  bell.  ' '  I  'm  not  afraid  of  a  bit  of  work 
with  my  hands.  Farintosh." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Send  round  the  car." 

In  the  hall,  as  they  passed  out  to  the  car,  Hank 
picked  up  a  bundle  he  had  brought  with  him. 

"What's  in  that?"  asked  George. 

"Overalls,"  said  Hank. 

They  drew  up  in  Malcolm  Street  close  to  the 
wharves. 

"Take  her  back,"  said  George  to  the  chauffeur, 
"and  tell  Farintosh  to  come  along  at  half -past 
twelve  with  enough  sandwiches  for  two  and  a 
bottle  of — Oh,  damn — two  bottles  of  lemonade. 
You  can  drink  lemonade,  Hank?" 

"Sure." 


JOE  BARRETT  48 

"Tell  him  he'll  find  me  in  the  yacht  that's 
moored  at  Sullivan's  wharf.  It's  close  to  this 
place,  he  can't  mistake." 

The  car  drove  off,  and  they  started  for  the 
water  side,  Hank  carrying  the  bundle. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  FIRING  OF  JAKE 

THE  street  was  blazing  with  the  morning 
light,  and,  turning  a  corner,  a  puff  of  wind 
from  the  bay  hit  George  in  the  face.  It 
carried  with  it  a  scent  of  tar,  oakum  and  bilge, 
and  it  was  like  the  breath  of  the  great  god 
Adventure  himself,  the  god  of  morning  and 
unknown  places  and  strange  happenings. 

It  felt  good  to  be  alive,  and  the  clearing  up  of  a 
ratty  old  yacht  with  Hank  Fisher,  seemed  the 
joyfullest  business  on  earth.  Hank  had  hit  a  big 
nail  on  the  head.  Money  would  have  spoiled  this 
show — just  as  it  spoils  most  shows. 

They  passed  along  the  wharf  till  they  reached 
Sullivan's.  Hank  dumped  his  bundle  and  came  to 
the  side  and  George,  following  him,  saw  Jake. 

Jake  was  fishing. 

"Hullo,"  said  Hank. 

11  Hullo,  "said  Jake. 

"Caught  anything?"  said  Hank. 

"Haw— fish  ain't  bitin'." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  for  that,  for  I've  taken  over 
the  fishing  rights.  Jake,  you're  fired,  the  yacht's 

44 


THE  FIRING  OF  JAKE  45 

mine,  I've  taken  her  over  and  you've  got  to  get." 

"Y'  mean  to  say  you've  bought  her?" 

"Nope.  Mr.  Tyrebuck  has  loaned  her  to  me. 
It's  all  the  same,  you've  got  to  get.  Here's  his 
letter,  want  to  read  it?" 

He  dropped  the  typewritten  letter  down  and 
Jake  spelled  over  it.  Then  he  said:  "And  how 
about  the  pay  due  to  me,  you  goin'  to  settle?" 

"Nope — McCallum's  will  pay  you.  Better  go 
to  them,  they'll  be  glad  to  see  you  for  I  told  them 
what  you  said  about  her." 

"And  what  did  I  say  about  her?" 

"Told  me  her  spars  were  carrots  and  her 
planking  mush. ' ' 

"That's  a  damned  lie,"  said  Jake,  "and  if 
there's  law  to  be  had  in  'Frisco,  I'll  have  you  for 
it,  b' gob." 

"Told  me  she'd  open  out  first  beam  sea — now 
then,  you  dog-eyed  squateroo,  get  your  dunnage 
and  clear,  pronto." 

George  had  never  seen  Hank  heated  until  this. 
His  eyes  blazed  and  his  lean  face  filled  with  venom 
as  he  looked  down  on  the  man  who  had  tried  to 
crab  the  Wear  Jack. 

Jake  tried  to  meet  his  gaze,  failed,  collected  his 
dunnage,  drew  in  his  fishing  line  and  scrambled 
ashore. 

"If  there's  law  to  be  had  in  'Frisco,  I'll  have 
you  for  this,"  cried  he. 

Hank  dropped  the  bundle  of  overalls  on  to  the 
deck  and  they  followed  it. 


46  VANDERDECKEN 

"Swab,"  said  Hank. 

Then  they  put  on  the  overalls.  Hank  started 
his  cleaning  up  with  an  axe.  There  was  an  axe 
lying  in  the  starboard  scuppers,  and,  seizing  it,  he 
made  for  the  old  dinghy. 

"Go  hunt  for  a  mop,"  he  cried  to  the  other. 
"I  saw  one  down  below.  Can't  dump  this  old 
bath  tub  into  the  harbour  as  she  is  or  there'll  be 
trouble.  B 'sides  I  want  exercise." 

He  began  to  set  the  rotten  planks  flying  with 
the  axe,  whilst  George  fetched  the  mop,  also  a 
bucket,  which,  under  the  direction  of  the 
perspiring  Hank,  he  fastened  to  a  rope  so  that 
they  could  dip  up  water  for  deck  swilling.  The 
remains  of  the  dinghy  overboard,  they  turned  to 
on  the  raffle ;  rope  ends,  dead  and  done  blocks,  old 
newspapers,  bits  of  coal. 

"Why,  look  you  here,"  said  Hank,  holding  up 
one  of  the  blocks,  "look  at  the  size  of  it.  It  must 
have  belonged  to  a  three-master  as  old  as  the  ark. 
That  guy's  been  hunting  the  wharves  for  old 
raffle  to  dump  aboard  her  and  make  a  litter ;  stick 
it  in  the  sail  room  for  evidence  if  he  starts  any 
law  bother.  Now,  gimme  that  bucket." 

The  swilling  and  swabbing  of  the  deck  began 
and  continued  till  the  dowels  showed  up  in  the 
planking.  Then  they  rested  and  smoked  cigar- 
ettes. It  was  now  noon,  and  George,  as  he  sat  on 
the  coaming  of  the  cabin  skylight,  resting  and 
watching  the  planking  dry  in  the  sun,  felt  uplifted. 
Since  leaving  the  army  he  hadn't  done  a  hand's 


THE  FIRING  OF  JAKE  47 

turn  of  honest  work,  simply  because  he  could  not 
find  any  work  to  do.  There  are  a  surprising 
number  of  rich  people  out  of  work  owing  to  no 
fault  of  their  own,  unemployed  men  and  women 
with  big  bank  balances  starving  for  employment. 
The  war  was  a  simple  Godsend  to  these.  It 
supplied  them  with  a  reason  and  an  initiative. 
Hank  had  supplied  George  with  both  these  things. 

Then,  now  that  the  decks  were  cleared  up,  the 
Wear  Jack  began  to  speak  to  him  as  only  a  ship 
can  speak  to  a  man.  She  was  no  longer  a  dirty 
hulk  but  a  live  thing  awakening  from  sleep,  a 
thing  with  the  mobility  of  a  bird,  a  sister  of  the 
sea  and  the  wind.  He  had  been  on  many  a  yacht 
and  many  a  steamboat  as  guest  or  passenger,  but 
this  was  the  first  ship  he  had  ever  got  close  to. 
The  work  with  the  mop  and  bucket,  the  knowledge 
that  he  would  soon  be  helping  to  rig  her  and 
handle  her,  the  sight  of  her  now  that  she  was 
cleaning  up,  the  very  smell  of  her,  all  combined 
to  work  the  charm.  He  went  below  to  heave  the 
old  block  into  the  sail  room  and  when  he  came  on 
deck  again  Hank  was  up  like  a  cat  in  the  rigging, 
hunting  for  rotten  ratlines,  a  knife  between  his 
teeth. 

At  one  o'clock  Farintosh  appeared  with  the 
sandwiches;  at  five  o'clock  they  knocked  off. 
They  had  cleared  and  cleaned  the  deck,  made  an 
overhaul  of  the  rigging,  cleared  and  cleaned  the 
cabin,  and  cleaned  the  bathroom  and  lavatory. 

"I'll   start  on  the  rigging  to-morrow,"   said 


48  VANDERDECKEN 

Hank.  "It's  all  sound  but  a  few  ropes  and 
ratlines — Christopher !" 

"What?" 

"I've  fired  the  watchman  and  who's  to  look 
after  her?" 

"Oh,  she  won't  hurt." 

"Won't  hurt!  Why,  if  you  fell  asleep  on  these 
wharves,  they'd  have  your  back  teeth  before  you 
woke  and  you  wouldn't  feel  them  pulling  them. 
Why,  these  hooligans,  if  they  didn't  strip  her, 
they'd  camp  in  her,  and  then  she'd  be  no  more 
mortal  use  till  she  was  boiled.  No.  I  guess  I'll 
have  to  stick  to  her." 

"Stick  to  her!"  cried  George,  "you  mean  to 
say,  sleep  here  ? ' ' 

"Yep.  What's  wrong?  The  old  bunk  bedding 
will  do  me  and  the  nights  are  warm.  To-morrow 
I'll  get  a  man  to  look  after  her  for  a  few  hours  in 
the  evening  whilst  I  get  my  dunnage  aboard. 
Come  along  ashore  with  me  while  I. get  some  grub 
and  a  toothbrush." 

He  slipped  out  of  his  overalls  and  they  climbed 
ashore. 

"She  won't  take  any  harm  for  an  hour  or  two 
by  herself,"  said  Hank. 

They  found  a  street  of  shops  boasting  a  drug 
store.  Here  Hank  bought  his  toothbrush,  then  he 
bought  a  German  sausage,  some  bread,  six  small 
apples  and  two  bottles  of  tonic  water,  also  an 
evening  paper  from  a  yelling  newsboy.  Then  he 
remembered  that  he  would  want  a  candle  to  read 


THE  FIRING  OF  JAKE  49 

the  newspaper  by  and  went  into  a  ships  chandler's 
to  buy  one,  leaving  George  outside. 

George  glanced  at  the  paper,  then  he  spread  it 
open  hurriedly  and  stood  reading  it,  heedless  of 
the  passersby  or  the  people  who  jostled  him. 
Hank,  coming  out  of  the  store  with  his  candle, 
looked  over  George's  shoulder  and  this  is  what  he 
read,  in  scare  headlines  across  a  double  column  of 
print : 

HANK  FISHER  OF 
THE  BOHEMIAN 
CLUB  GOES  AFTER 
THE  DUTCHMAN 


Joe    Barrett    Loses    on    the    Deal    But 
Comes  Up  Smiling  at  Josh  Tyre- 
buck   and   Bud  du  Cane 


Then  came  the  details.  The  dollar  tossed  at  the 
Bay  Club,  which  gave  Hank  two  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  goods  for  nothing,  the  loan  of  the  Wear 
Jack  by  Tyrebuck  and  George  du  Cane's 
participation  in  the  business. 

George  felt  as  though  all  his  clothes  had 
suddenly  been  stripped  off  him  there  in  the  street. 
Hank  whistled. 

Then  he  said:  ''That's  Barrett.  Lord,  I  might 
have  known.  He  didn't  toss  fair,  he  wanted  me 
to  win,  and  now,  look!  He's  got  the  goods,  five 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  advertising  for  a 


50  VANDERDECKEN 

thousand  dollars'  worth  of  bully  beef  and  canned 
t'matoes.  It  won't  cost  him  more  than  that,  for 
he's  giving  me  the  stuff  at  retail  prices.  And  now 
it  will  be  all  over  the  town  and  all  over  the 
waterside. ' ' 

"Curse  him,"  said  George.  His  lips  were  dry. 
There  was  a  jocular  tone  in  that  confounded  press 
notice  that  cast  a  blight  on  everyone  concerned 
except  Joe  Barrett.  Joe,  though  he  was  the  only 
loser  of  money  in  the  business  up  to  the  present 
was,  in  some  extraordinary  way,  put  on  a  pedestal 
as  a  sport,  whilst  the  others  ran  round  the  plinth 
like  figures  of  fun. 

"It's  him  and  his  publicity  man,  Josh  Scudder, 
who've  done  it,"  said  Hank.  "I  can  tell  Josh's 
hand  in  it — it's  his  style.  Well,  there  it  is,  it 
can't  be  helped.  I'd  planned  to  slip  out  quiet  and 
come  back  with  a  brass  band  playing  Dutchland 
under  alles  and  Vanderdecken  in  leg  irons;  now 
the  blanket's  stripped  off  us  clean.  We'll  be 
laughed  at  from  Hell  to  Hoboken  if  we  don't 
make  good.  We're  on  the  toboggan  full  speed,  no 
use  grabbing  at  the  snow.  There's  only  one  way 
out — we've  gotta  get  the  Dutchman." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PUBLICITY 

GEORGE  did  not  go  to  the  club  that  night. 
He  went  straight  home  and  sent  Farintosh 
out  to  buy  all  the  evening  papers  and  Far- 
intosh returned  with  a  bundle  of  everything  from 
the  Evening  Sun  to  the  Polk  Street  Pikers'  Mes- 
senger. Every  paper  had  the  news,  under  all 
sorts  of  scare  headlines.  Some  of  these  headlines 
referred  to  Fisher  and  some  to  himself;  through 
all  the  notices  ran  a  gentle  and  breezy  humour, 
and  in  them  all,  with  one  exception,  Joe  Barrett 
had  his  advertisement  and  walked-  protected  from 
laughter  as  Shadrac  from  flame. 

The  one  exception  was  the  Polk  Street  Piker,  a 
free  spoken  organ  that  generally  kept  to  ward 
politics.  The  Piker,  whilst  allowing  that  Rat 
Trap  Fisher  had  swelled  head  and  had  better 
stick  to  rodents,  was  frankly  libellous  about 
Barrett,  said  the  whole  thing  was  a  fake  got  up  by 
Barrett  to  help  his  sale  of  damaged  goods  then  on, 
said  a  business  must  be  pretty  rocky  to  adopt  such 
means,  said  that  it  was  likely  the  whole  Dutchman 
business  was  a  business  fake. 

51 


52  VANDERDECKEN 

George  read  this  horrible  libel  with  a  chill  at 
his  heart,  for  he  knew  that  Hennessy,  the  editor  of 
the  Piker,  was  a  led  captain  and  creature  of 
Barrett's.  No  one  of  any  account  read  the  Piker, 
but  everyone  of  any  account  would  read  the  abject 
apology  of  the  Piker  sure  to  be  published  in  a  day 
or  two  in  every  newspaper  in  California,  together 
with  editorial  comments  and  a  full  statement 
about  the  Fisher  Expedition  supplied  by  Scudder. 
The  thing  would  probably  reach  New  York  and 
London.  With  Vanderdecken  as  engine  and 
Barrett  as  driver  and  stoker,  there  was  no 
knowing  where  it  might  not  reach  or  how  long  it 
might  not  keep  running,  and  he,  George  du  Cane, 
was  tied  to  the  tail  of  it.  He  was  already  in  the 
blaze  of  the  limelight  and  at  that  moment  men  in 
the  clubs,  people  at  dinner  parties,  people  in 
restaurants  and  people  in  cars  were  talking  of 
him.  The  fact  of  his  wealth  would  give  him  a 
little  place,  all  his  own,  in  this  show.  There  was 
only  one  way  of  escape — justification.  "We've 
gotta  get  the  Dutchman."  Hank's  words  came 
back  to  him.  If  they  did  not  get  the  Dutchman, 
it  would  be  much  better  not  to  come  back  to  San 
Francisco.  George  had  a  fine  feeling  for  Pacific 
Coast  temperament;  leaving  that  alone,  half 
frozen  Icelanders  would  see  the  point  and  the  joke 
of  a  much  advertised  amateur  expedition  such  as 
theirs  returning  empty  handed. 

He  went  to  bed  early  but  he  could  not  sleep  for  a 
long  time..  It  was  all  very  well  talking  about 


PUBLICITY  53 

getting  the  Dutchman,  but  how  were  they  to  get 
him?  When  the  getting  of  him  had  been  only  a 
matter  of  sport,  the  thing  seemed  fairly  easy; 
now  that  it  was  a  matter  of  dire  necessity,  it 
seemed  next  to  impossible.  A  nightmare  task  like 
hunting  for  a  lost  needle  in  Kearney  Street. 

He  jumped  out  of  bed,  fetched  an  atlas,  and, 
taking  it  back  to  bed  with  him,  looked  up  the 
California  coast,  running  his  eye  along  from  San 
Francisco  to  Cape  San  Lucas,  exploring  the  sea 
from  the  Channel  Islands  to  Guadaloupe  and  from 
Guadaloupe  to  the  Tres  Marias  Islands.  Some- 
where in  that  vast  stretch  of  sea,  somewhere  on 
that  line  of  coast  that  ran  from  the  Golden  Gate 
to  Cancer,  they  had  to  find  a  man  who  most 
certainly  did  not  want  to  be  found  by  searchers. 
He  went  to  sleep  on  the  thought  and  awoke  to  it. 

Farintosh  was  entering  the  room;  he  was 
carrying  a  bundle  of  morning  papers. 

'  *  Pull  up  the  blind, ' '  said  George. 

Propped  on  the  pillows,  he  opened  the  first 
paper  to  hand  expecting  to  see  his  name  in  double 
leaded  type.  Not  a  word.  In  all  the  paper  not  a 
word  of  him  or  Hank  or  the  Dutchman  or  the 
expedition.  The  next  paper  was  the  same  and  the 
next.  The  great  San  Francisco  dailies  and  the 
little  San  Francisco  dailies  had  treated  the  matter 
with  the  most  absolute  contempt.  George  felt 
curiously  flat,  he  even  looked  at  the  dates  of  the 
papers  to  make  sure  there  was  no  mistake  and 


54  VANDERDECKEN 

that  Farintosh  had  not  by  some  accident  brought 
him  yesterday's  press. 

He  had  dreaded  seeing  his  name  and  now  he 
was  disappointed  because  it  was  not  there. 
Human  nature  is  a  funny  thing. 

He  rose,  bathed,  dressed  and  came  down  to 
breakfast,  but  still  the  depression  clung.  He  felt 
small  and  of  little  account,  he  felt  weak  and  irri- 
table. What  was  wrong  with  him?  He  had 
tasted  Publicity,  that  is  all.  Publicity,  the  wine 
of  the  Barretts,  is  also  the  wine  of  the  poets ;  its 
fascination  is  universal  and  of  whatever  brand  it 
is,  from  abusive  to  laudatory,  it  is  always 
Publicity.  Even  the  pillory,  I  expect,  had  its 
compensations  in  the  old  days,  and  to  be  recog- 
nized with  a  bad  egg  or  a  dead  cat  was,  at  all 
events,  to  be  recognised. 

And  what  a  blaze-up  that  was  last  night,  with 
every  paper  screaming  round  the  bon-fire, — and 
now  this  frost — why,  that  alone  was  in  the  nature 
of  an  insult. 

Suddenly  and  in  the  act  of  pouring  himself  out 
a  second  cup  of  coffee,  his  mind  cleared  and  his 
energy  returned.  "We've  gotta  get  the  Dutch- 
man." Hank's  words  had  come  back  to  him. 
"And  by  God  we  will,"  said  he. 

He  finished  his  breakfast,  rang  for  the  car  and 
started  for  the  wharves.  The  deck  of  the  Wear 
Jack  was  empty,  he  dropped  down  to  the  cabin 
and  there  was  Hank  surrounded  with  newspapers. 


PUBLICITY  55 

Hank  had  evidently  purchased  largely  last  night 
as  well  as  this  morning. 

"Well,"  said  George  lightly,  "there's  not  a 
word  in  the  morning  papers  and  that's  a  good 
thing." 

Hank  grunted. 

"That's  Barrett,"  said  he.  "He's  cut  the 
news  off  plunk.  Why,  a  blaze  in  the  morning 
papers  would  have  been  out  by  to-night;  as  it  is 
every  man  from  Pacific  Avenue  to  Polk  Street  is 
saying,  'Why,  there  ain't  no  news  about  Hank.' 
Barrett's  being  'phoned  to  death  at  the  present 
minute  asking  what  it  all  means.  People  will  be 
talking  all  day,  wanting  news  of  the  business  and 
inventing  lies  to  fill  the  gaps,  till  it'll  get  about 
that  the  Dutchman's  been  caught  by  Joe  Barrett 
an's  being  exhibited  at  his  stores.  By  to-night 
all  the  'phones  will  be  humming  with  lies  and  all 
the  South  Coast  papers  shouting  for  information. 
Why,  Bud,  where  were  you  born  not  to  know  that 
advertising  isn't  printing  stuff  in  the  papers  but 
making  men  talk.  One  big  rumour,  if  you  set  it 
going,  bumbling  away  like  thunder  in  the  foot 
hills,  is  worth  all  the  printed  stuff  from  here  to 
Nome.  We're  fair  handicapped.  If  I  was  adver- 
tising liver  pills,  I'd  be  joyful,  but  I'm  not." 

"Think  it  will  queer  our  pitch?" 

"Well,  you  don't  go  duck- shooting  with  a  brass 
band,  do  you  ?  But  there 's  no  use  in  talking,  we  're 
on  the  slide  and  we'll  have  to  slither,  and  brass 


56  VANDERDECKEN 

band  or  no,  I'm  going  to  get  him.  Come  on,  we've 
gotta  get  to  work. ' ' 

He  had  been  at  work  since  six  o'clock,  it 
seemed,  on  the  ratlines,  and  he  was  now  over- 
hauling all  the  standing  rigging.  That  done,  they 
attacked  the  running. 

In  the  middle  of  these  operations  it  began  to 
dawn  on  them  that  they  were  observed.  Some- 
times there  was  quite  a  little  group  on  the  wharf 
watching  and  criticising.  George  noticed  it  first. 

''How  the  devil  have  they  got  to  know  the 
whereabouts  of  the  boat?"  asked  George.  "The 
papers  said  nothing  about  Sullivan's  Wharf." 

"It's  Jake,"  said  Hank.  "He'll  have  been  all 
over  the  wharves  talking;  take  a  pull  on  that 
halyard.  Lord,  these  blocks  will  never  do,  I'll 
have  to  go  hunt  in  the  sail-room  to  see  if  I  can't 
turn  out  some  better.  What's  the  time?  Getting 
on  for  one?  Well,  I've  got  some  grub  down  below 
and  I  vote  we  have  a  bite,  and  after  that,  if  you 
don't  mind,  will  you  skip  ashore  to  the  club  and 
see  if  there's  any  letters  for  me.  I'm  expecting 
a  business  letter  from  N'  York  about  a  patent  I've 
got  an  interest  in. ' ' 

"Right,"  said  George. 

The  galley  of  the  Wear  Jack  was  well  fitted  up. 
Jake  had  done  his  cooking  there  and  had  left  half 
a  can  of  kerosene  behind  him.  Hank  had  got  eggs 
and  a  great  chunk  of  bacon  from  somewhere  out  of 
the  blue,  and  there  was  the  remains  of  last  night's 
German  sausage.  In  a  few  minutes  the  frying 


PUBLICITY  57 

pan  was  shouting  over  a  Primus  stove  and  Hank, 
in  his  shirt  sleeves,  was  directing  George.  There 
was  a  let-down  table  in  the  galley  and  plates  and 
knives  and  forks  in  a  locker. 

"I've  overhauled  the  crockery  and  table  and 
bed  linen,"  said  Hank.  "Did  it  last  night. 
There's  enough  on  board  for  a  family — pass  me 
your  plate.  We'll  have  a  Chink  for  cook." 

1 '  How  about  the  crew  I ' ' 

"Time  enough  about  them — maybe  we'll  have 
Chinks." 

To  George,  pondering  as  he  ate,  suddenly  came 
the  fact  that  Vanderdecken — the  Dutchman — 
Dutch  Pete,  or  whatever  his  name  might  be, 
certainly  had  behind  him  a  crew  of  the  same 
colour  as  himself,  coupled  with  the  fact  that  a 
crew  of  Chinks  wouldn't  be  of  the  same  fighting 
colour  as  Vanderdecken 's  lot. 

He  said  so. 

"Oh,  it  won't  come  to  fighting,"  said  Hank.] 
"  If  it  did  I  can  hit  a  dollar  with  an  automatic  at  i 
twenty-five  paces  once  a  second,  and  I'll  learn  j 
you  to  do  the  same — but  it  won't.    We've  got  to 
take  that  chap  with   our  wits,   not  with   guns, 
though  they'll  be  useful  maybe  for  bluff.    Did  y' 
ever  see  strategy  and  tactics  combined  in  the 
concrete  ? ' ' 

"No,"  said  George. 

"Then  you've  never  seen  my  rat  trap,"  said 
Hank. 

An  hour  later  George  returned  from  his  visit 


58  VANDERDECKEN 

to  the  club  with  two  letters  for  Hank.  One  was 
the  expected  letter  from.  New  York;  the  other, 
which  bore  only  the  San  Francisco  post-mark, 
was  addressed  to  E.  T.  Fisher,  and  ran : 

11  West  Lincoln  Street, 

San  Francisco. 
Sir, 

As  a  lover  of  the  sea  and  all  that 
therein  is,  I  take  this  opportunity  to  beg 
leave  to  apply  for  a  post  in  your  expidi- 
tion,  can  turn  my  hand  to  anything  that 
isn't  crooked.  Was  gold-mining  at  Klon- 
dike two  years  but  give  it  up  owing  to  a 
frost  bight  but  am  used  to  dealing  with 
rough  characters.  Seeing  the  piece  about 
you  in  the  evening  paper  to-night  I  make 
haist  to  apply  and  you  will  find  me  equal 
prompt  in  my  dealings  I  have  to  do  with 
you,  and  satisfactory.  A  line  to  above 
will  oblige. 

Yours,  truly, 
J.  B.  Yonkers. 

P.  S.    Terms  can  be  arranged. 

" That's  the  bill-mackerel,"  said  Hank.  "Did 
you  ever  see  a  mackerel?  Well,  it's  always  headed 
by  a  couple  or  so  of  freak  mackerel.  Chaps  witli 
bills  like  ducks.  This  is  the  first  of  the  shoal  of 
chaps  that'll  be  wanting  to  come  along,  with  us — 
you'll  see." 


CHAPTER  IX 

CANDON 

GEORGE  did. 
An  abject  and  crawling  apology  from 
the  Piker,  published  and  paid  for  in  next 
morning's  papers,  restarted  the  publicity  cam- 
paign, and,  though  the  press  never  recovered  its 
first  careless  rapture,  the  thing  had  made  good 
and  was  established  in  the  mind  of  the  public. 
The  letters  came  in  day  by  day,  some  addressed 
to  the  club,  some  care  of  Joe  Barrett,  all  of  the 
same  tenor.  The  expedition  that  had  aroused 
mild  merriment  in  the  upper  circles  of  San  Fran- 
cisco was  received  in  dead  seriousness  by  the 
middle  and  lower  circles — even  with  enthusiasm. 
The  thing  had  vast  appeal  to  the  movie-red  mind ; 
the  exploits  of  the  Dutchman,  inconsiderable 
enough  in  a  world  where  criminal  license  had 
suddenly  added  cubits  to  its  stature,  had  been 
boomed  by  the  press.  Hank  Fisher  had  already 
a  name  to  embroider  on  and  "Bud"  du  Cane 
was  not  unknown.  Letters  came  from  all  round 
the  Bay;  from  Oakland,  Berkeley,  Port  Costa, 
New  York,  California,  Antioch,  Benicia,  San 

59 


60  VANDERDECKEN 

Baf ael  and  Tiburon ;  letters  came  from  Monterey 
and  all  down  the  coast.  Letters  from  "all  sorts 
and  sexes"  to  put  it  in  Hank's  words.  Women 
offered  to  come  along  as  cooks,  boys  as  "deck- 
hands," a  retired  banker  at  San  Jo  offered  to  pay 
to  be  taken  along.  Never  in  any  letter  except  that 
of  the  "bill-mackerel"  was  there  a  reference  to 
terms,  all  these  people  were  ready  to  go  for  noth- 
ing but  their  "grub  and  bunk"  as  one  gentleman 
put  it,  and,  if  you  wish  to  gauge  the  utility  of  a 
personality  like  Hank's,  this  vast  and  healthy 
wave  of  adventure-craving  which  he  had  set 
going  amongst  the  populace  of  the  state  is  an 
index. 

"And  not  one  of  the  lot  is  any  use,"  said  Hank, 
as  he  sat  in  the  cabin  with  George  one  day  about 
a  week  before  the  projected  start.  "I  saw  those 
people  I  wrote  to  yesterday,  one  had  consump- 
tion, another  one  had  swelled  head,  fancied  him- 
self a  duke  to  judge  by  his  talk,  another  was  six 
foot  seven  or  thereabouts,  couldn't  have  taken 
him  aboard  without  his  head  sticking  out  of  the 
saloon  hatch,  another  guy  was  on  a  tramp  from 
Oskosh  to  S  'uthern  California  and  wanted  to  take 
the  expedition  en  route,  he  was  an  oil  prospector 
and  troubled  with  something  that  made  him  want 
to  scratch;  then  there  was  an  Italian  who'd  been 
a  count  and  an  Irishman  who'd  served  in  the 
Irish  rebellion  under  Roger  Casement,  a  decent 
chap,  but  I'd  just  as  soon  take  aboard  a  live  bomb 
shell.  "We'll  just  have  to  make  out,  you  and  me, 


CAN  DON  61 

as  after-guard — four  Chinks  will  be  enough  for  a 
crew  and  I  can  pick  them  up  by  the  handful. '  * 

4 'When  are  the  provisions  and  stuff  coming  on 
board?" 

"Tomorrow  or  next  day.  I  saw  J.  B.  yester- 
day—" 

"Wear  Jack,  ahoy!"  came  a  voice  from  the 
wharf  through  the  open  skylight. 

'  '  Hullo ! ' '  cried  Hank.  '  <  Who 's  that  and  what 
d'you  want?" 

A  thud  came  on  the  deck  followed  by  the  voice 
at  the  companion  hatch.  "May  I  come  below?" 
The  stairs  creaked  and  at  the  saloon  door 
appeared  a  man. 

The  sun  glow  from  the  skylight  struck  him  full 
as  he  stood  there,  a  huge,  red-bearded,  blue-eyed 
sailor  man,  neatly  dressed  in  dark  serge  and 
wearing  a  red  necktie.  His  eyes  were  most  taking 
and  astonishing  liquid  sparkling  blue — the  eyes 
of  a  child. 

Contrasted  with  the  hatchet-faced  Hank  and 
the  sophisticated  Bud,  he  seemed  youthful,  yet 
he  was  older  than  either  of  them. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  BED  BEARDED  ONE 

£  4  T  y  ULLO ! ' '  said  Hank.    * '  What  the  devi] 
do  you  want?" 

"Am  I  speaking  to  Mr.  Fisher?" 
asked  the  newcomer,  addressing  himself  to  the 
town  lot  speculator. 

11  You  are." 

"You're  the  man  that's  going  after  the 
Dutchman?" 

"Yep." 

"D'you  want  to  catch  him?" 

"Oh,  Lord,  no,"  said  Hank.  "I'm  only  going 
to  inquire  after  his  health.  Go  on,  what  are  you 
getting  at?" 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  catch  him,  get  on  deck 
this  instant  minute  and  see  I've  not  been  followed. 
Go  up  casual  and  have  a  look  round.  Keep  your 
eyes  skinned  for  a  man  with  a  patch  over  his 
left  eye.  I'm  not  funning.  I  mean  business. 
Get  a-deck.  I  tell  you  I've  no  time  to  explain." 

Hank  stared  at  the  other  for  a  second,  then  he 
uncoiled  himself,  crossed  the  cabin  and  vanished 
up  the  companion  way. 

62 


THE  RED  BEARDED  ONE  63 

Neither  George  nor  the  bearded  one  spoke  a 
They  were  listening.  Then  they  heard 
voices. 

"Say,  you,"  came  a  voice  from  the  wharf,  "did 
y'  see  a  guy  goin'  along  here — red-whiskered 
fella?" 

"Man  with  a  red  necktie?"  came  Hank's  voice. 

"Yeh — he's  my  pal — which  way  was  he 
goin'?" 

"He  was  making  along  towards  the  union 
dock." 

Silence.  The  companion  way  creaked  and  Hank 
reappeared  standing  in  the  cabin  doorway. 

"Well,"  said  Hank,  "that's  done.  I'd  no 
sooner  got  on  deck  than  a  fellow  with  a  patch  on 
his  eye  came  along  with  kind  inquiries.  I've  sent 
him  along.  Now  I  must  ask  you  for  your  visiting 
card — and  explanations." 

The  stranger  laughed. 

" Candon 's  my  name,"  said  he.  "Bob  Candon. 
I'll  take  a  seat  for  a  minute,  if  you  don't  mind,  to 
get  my  wits  together.  I  only  blew  in  yesterday 
afternoon,  came  up  from  S'uthard  and  anchored 
off  Tiburon  and  first  news  I  had  when  I  got  ashore 
was  about  you  and  the  Dutchman. ' ' 

"What  was  your  ship?"  cut  in  Hank. 

"Heart  of  Ireland,  thirty-ton  schooner,  owned 
and  run  by  Pat  McGinnis,  last  port — "  Candon 
cut  himself  short.  "That  would  be  telling," 
said  he,  with  a  laugh. 


64  VANDERDECKEN 

Hank  handed  him  a  cigarette  and  lit  another. 

"I'm  not  wanting  to  bore  into  your  business," 
said  Hank,  "only  I'm  giving  you  this  straight, 
I've  no  time  for  blind  man's  buff.  You  were 
proposing  to  come  along  with  us  to  hook  the 
Dutchman?" 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for,"  said  Candon. 
"I  don't  want  you  to  lose  wind  or  time  over  me, 
I'd  have  you  know  I'm  dealing  straight,  but  I'm 
mixed  with  a  crowd  that's  not  straight,  get  me? 
Don't  you  bother  where  the  Heart  dropped  her 
mud-hook  last,  nor  how  much  her  business  was 
mixed  up  with  the  Dutchman's  business.  Don't 
you  bother  about  one  single  thing  but  the  propo- 
sition I'm  going  to  put  before  you,  and  it's  this. 
Ship  me  out  of  this  port  down  south  and  I'll  put 
in  your  hand  every  last  ounce  of  the  boodle  the 
Dutchman's  been  collecting,  for  I  know  where 
it's  hid;  on  top  of  that  I'll  make  you  a  present 
of  the  man  himself  for  I  know  where  he's  to  be 
found.  That's  my  part  of  the  bargain.  And 
now  for  yours.  I  ask  nothing  but  five  thousand 
dollars  in  my  fist  when  the  job's  done,  and  to  be 
put  ashore  somewhere  safe,  so  that  those  chaps 
on  the  Heart  won't  be  able  to  get  at  me." 

He  had  been  holding  the  cigarette  unlighted. 
He  struck  a  match,  lit  it,  took  in  a  great  volume 
of  smoke  and  slowly  expelled  it. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "what's  your  opinion  on 
that?" 


THE  RED  BEARDED  ONE  65 

Hank  was  sitting  almost  like  Rodin's  Thinker. 
Then  he  uncoiled  a  bit. 

"Do  those  guys  on  the  Heart  know  where  the 
Dutchman's  to  be  found?"  asked  he. 

"No,  they  don't." 

"Do  they  know  where  the  boodle  is!" 

"N'  more  than  Adam." 

"Do  they  know  you  know  where  it  is?" 

"They  suspect.  That's  my  trouble — what's 
this  I'm  saying,  'suspect'.  Why  it's  more  than 
that  now.  Now  I've  run  away  from  them  they'll 
know  for  certain." 

"And  if  they  catch  you?" 

"They'll  drill  me,  sure." 

"Was  that  guy  with  the  patch,  McGinnis?" 

"Nope — Thacker,  McGinnis 's  right  hand  man." 

Hank  brooded. 

Then  said  he:  "Were  you  a  friend  of  the 
Dutchman?" 

"What  you  mean  to  ask,"  said  the  other,  "is, 
am  I  letting  him  down?  I'll  just  tell  you,  the 
Dutchman  has  been  my  enemy,  but  I'm  not  mov- 
ing in  this  because  I  have  a  grouch  against  him. 
I'm  playing  my  own  game,  but  it's  a  straight 
game. ' ' 

Hank  brooded  a  second  more. 

"We'd  have  to  hide  you  aboard  here  till  we 
start,"  said  he. 

"You  will,"  replied  the  other. 

"Eight,"  said  Hank.     "Now  will  you  take  a 


66  VANDERDECKEN 

rag  and  clean  the  engine  for  two  minutes  while  I 
have  a  talk  to  my  friend  here  in  private." 

He  led  the  way  out  and  came  back. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  think  of  that 
guy!" 

"I  like  him,"  said  George. 

"I  like  him  well  enough,"  said  Hank,  "Ques- 
tion is  about  his  story.  It  seems  plain  enough. 
He's  come  up  with  a  crew  of  hoodlums  who've 
been  in  touch  with  Vanderdecken,  they've  been 
hunting  for  old  man  Vanderdecken 's  boodle. 
Nothing  doing.  Then  they've  left  the  hunt  and 
put  in  here.  They  had  big  suspicions  he  was  in 
the  know  and  wanted  the  boodle  for  himself. 
He's  only  been  let  ashore  with  a  nurse  and  he's 
given  her  the  slip.  It's  all  plain.  Then 
Providence  comes  in,  which  is  us.  Seems 
extraordinary,  don't  it?  Barrett  advertising  us 
like  that  and  all,  for  here  we  are,  a  sure  bolt- 
hole  for  him,  advertised  bigger  than  Heinz 's 
Pickles." 

"How  do  you  mean  a  bolt-hole?" 

"Well,  look  at  it.  Those  crooks  are  after  him 
like  a  coyote  after  a  prairie  dog.  He's  got  to  get 
out  of  here,  he  might  get  out  in  a  foc'sle  if  he 
wasn't  knifed  before  the  ship  sailed,  but  that 
wouldn't  lead  him  anywhere  except  maybe  round 
Cape  Horn,  whereas  he  gets  a  lift  back  down  the 
coast  to  where  he  knows  the  Dutchman  has  hid 
the  boodle  and  he  gets  five  thousand  dollars  in 
his  fist  and  a  set  ashore.  Then  Providence  comes 


THE  RED  BEARDED  ONE  67 

in  again,  seems  to  me.  I  reckoned  I'd  have  to 
spend  five  thousand  on  this  expedition  and 
between  Tyrebuck  and  Barrett  it  won't  cost  me 
a  cent,  bar  the  hire  of  four  Chinks  for  crew,  so 
I  can  easy  afford  to  pay  him  five  thousand  and 
come  out  winners.  Besides,  he's  an  extra  hand 
himself  and  a  good  sailor  man,  if  I'm  any 
judge." 

"It  does  seem  all  to  fit  in,"  said  George. 

1 '  Well,  shall  we  take  him  ? ' '  said  Hank.  ' '  It 's  a 
risk,  but  I  reckon  we've  got  to  take  risks." 

"Take  him,"  said  George. 

Hank  went  out  and  returned  with  the  other. 
Candon  had  taken  off  his  coat  and  his  shirt 
sleeves  were  rolled  up  and  his  hands  showed  the 
engine-room  business  he  had  been  put  on. 

"Come  right  in,"  said  Hank.  "We've 
concluded  to  take  you  along,  but  there's  condi- 
tions." 

"Spit  them  out,"  said  Candon. 

"Well,  first  of  all  I  haven't  five  thousand 
dollars  to  be  taking  down  the  coast  with  me,  but 
I'll  put  a  thousand  in  your  fist  when  the  job's 
done  and  mail  you  the  other  four  to  any  address 
you  like." 

"Oh,  I'll  trust  you  for  that,"  said  Candon. 
"What  else?" 

"Second,  if  we  find  the  Dutchman's  property, 
it  will  have  to  go  back  to  the  owners. ' ' 

"That's  just  what  I'd  like  best,"  said  Candon. 
"I  tell  you  straight  it  would  have  been  a  condi- 


68  VANDERDECKEN 

tion  with  me,  only  I  took  it  for  granted  seeing 
you're  out,  so  to  speak,  in  the  name  of  the  law. 
I'm  no  pirate.  I'm  not  saying  I  was  always  of 
the  same  way  of  thinking,  but  I  reckon  those 
ballyhooleys  I've  just  left  have  given  me  a 
shake." 

"Well  then,"  said  Hank,  "there's  only  one 
more  condition.  You'll  help  to  work  the  ship  for 
your  bunk  and  board  without  pay. ' ' 

"Bight,"  said  Candon,  "and  now,  if  you'll 
take  that  styleographic  pen  I  see  sticking  out  of 
your  vest  pocket  and  give's  a  bit  of  paper,  we'll 
draw  the  contract." 

Hank  produced  the  pen  and  an  old  bill  on  the 
back  of  which  the  "contract"  was  made  out, 
under  the  terms  of  which  Candon  was  to  receive 
five  thousand  dollars  and  a  set  ashore  after  the 
Dutchman  had  been  brought  safe  aboard  the 
Wear  Jack,  also  he  was  to  take  the  expedition  to 
the  spot  where,  to  the  best  of  his  belief,  was 
cached  the  Dutchman's  plunder. 

This  done,  Candon  went  back  to  his  engine 
cleaning,  having  produced  and  handed  over  to 
Hank  four  ten  dollar  notes. 

"I'll  want  a  toothbrush  and  a  couple  of  shirts 
and  a  couple  of  suits  of  pyjamas,"  said  he. 
"Maybe,  as  I  can't  get  ashore,  you'll  get  them 
for  me.  All  my  truck's  on  board  the  Heart." 

"Bud,"  said  Hank  to  his  partner  that  night, 
"I  hope  to  the  Lord  we  ain't  stung.  Suppose 


THE  RED  BEARDED  ONE  69 

the  chap's  some  practical  joker  put  on  us  by 
Barrett,  or  the  boys  at  the  Club." 

"Nonsense,"  said  George.  " Where 'd  be  the 
sense?  Besides  the  chap's  genuine.  You  have 
only  to  look  at  his  face  .  .  ." 


CHAPTER  XI 

NIGHT 

THE  week  before  the  sailing  of  the  Wear 
Jack  was  a  busy  time  for  the  Fisher  Syndi- 
cate and  business  was  not  expedited  owing 
to  the  fact  that  Candon  had  to  be  kept  hidden. 
The  red-bearded  one  seemed  happy  enough, 
spending  most  of  his  time  in  the  engine  room 
smoking  cigarettes.  At  nights,  safe  with  Hank  in 
the  "saloon,"  his  mind  disclosed  itself  in  his 
conversation. 

No,  this  was  no  wasp  let  in  on  them  by  Barrett 
or  the  Club  boys.  The  mind  of  Candon,  as 
revealed  to  Hank,  was  as  free  from  crookedness 
as  the  eyes  through  which  it  looked,  and  on  most 
topics  from  the  League  of  Nations  to  Ella  Wheeler 
Wilcox,  it  was  sound.  And  it  was  not  unlike  the 
mind  of  Hank.  It  was  self-educated  and  their 
enthusiasms,  from  the  idea  of  Universal  Brother- 
hood to  the  idea  of  the  sanctity  of  womanhood, 
matched,  mostly. 

Candon,  from  what  one  could  gather,  had  been 
a  rolling  stone,  like  Hank,  but  he  gave  little  away 
about  himself  and  he  was  quite  frank  about  it. 

70 


NIGHT  71 

1  'I'd  just  as  soon  forget  myself,"  said  he. 
"I've  been  in  a  good  many  mix-ups  and  I've 
missed  a  fortune  twice  through  my  own  fault,  but 
I've  come  through  with  all  my  teeth  and  no 
stomach  worries  and  we'll  leave  it  at  that." 

Barrett's  stores  came  on  board  and  were 
stowed,  and  Hank,  througji  a  boarding-house 
keeper,  got  his  crew,  four  Chinamen  all  of  the 
same  tong,  all  Lees,  and  bossed  by  a  gentleman 
rejoicing  in  the  name  of  Lee  Wong  Juu.  Cham- 
pagne Charley,  Hank  labeled  him.  They  came 
tripping  on  board  with  their  chests  the  night 
before  starting,  vanished  like  shades  down  the 
foc'sle  hatch  and  were  seen  no  more. 

Hank,  standing  on  the  deck  with  George, 
heaved  a  sigh  of  contentment.  "Well,  that's 
done,"  said  he.  "There's  nothing  more  to  take 
on  board  and  we're  all  ready  for  the  pull  out 
in  the  morning. ' ' 

"What  time  do  you  propose  to  start?"  asked 
the  other. 

"Sunup.  Barrett  has  got  it  into  his  head, 
somehow,  we're  going  at  noon.  I  didn't  tell  you, 
but  I  got  wind  he'd  arranged  for  a  tug  with  a 
brass  band  to  lead  us  out  and  josh  us.  Can  you 
see  his  face  when  he  finds  us  gone?" 

They  went  below  where  the  cabin  lamp  was  lit, 
with  Candon  reading  a  newspaper  under  it. 

"The  Chinks  are  come,"  said  Hank,  taking  his 
seat  at  the  table,  and  fetching  out  his  pipe. 
"There's  nothing  more  to  come  in  but  the  mud- 


72  VANDERDECKEN 

hook.  Well,  how  do  you  feel,  now  we're  start- 
ing?" 

" Bully,"  said  Candon.  "I  was  beginning  to 
feel  like  a  caged  canary.  You  chaps  don't  know 
what  it's  been  the  last  week.  Well,  let's  get 
finished.  There's  some  truck  still  to  be  stowed  in 
the  after  cabin  and  I  want  to  do  a  bit  more  tinker- 
ing at  the  engine.  There's  a  day's  work  on  that 
engine — them  cylinder  rings  were  sure  made  in 
Hades." 

"Well,  you  can  leave  it,"  said  Hank.  "I'm 
putting  out  at  sunup.  I  don't  count  on  that 
engine  and  you'll  have  time  to  tinker  with  her  on 
the  way  down. ' '  He  stopped  suddenly,  raised  his 
head,  and  held  up  a  finger.  The  night  was  warm 
and  the  skylight  full  open.  In  the  dead  silence 
that  fell  on  the  cabin  they  could  hear  through  the 
open  skylight  the  far-away  rattle  of  a  cargo  winch 
working  under  the  electrics,  the  whistle  of  a  ferry 
boat  and  away,  far  away,  though  great  as  the 
voice  of  Behemoth,  the  boo  of  a  deep  sea  steamer's 
siren. 

"Yes,"  began  Hank  again,  gliding  to  the  door 
of  the  saloon  as  he  spoke,  "you  can  tinker  with  it 
on  the  way  down."  He  vanished,  and  the  others, 
taking  his  cue,  kept  up  the  talk.  Then  they  heard 
him  pounce. 

"What  you  doing  here?" 

"Hullo!  me — I  ain't  doin'  nothin' — what  you 
gettin' at?  You  lea' me  go." 


NIGHT  73 

"What  you  doing  here,  you  low  down  scow- 
hunker?  Answer  up  before  I  scrag  you." 

"Tell  you  I  was  doin'  nothin'.  I  dropped 
aboard  to  see  if  I  couldn't  borry  a  light,  seein'  the 
shine  of  your  skylight." 

"I'll  give  you  a  light." 

Then  they  heard  the  quite  distinctive  sounds  of 
a  man  being  kicked  off  the  ship,  blasphemous 
threats  from  the  wharf-side — silence. 

A  minute  later  Hank  appeared,  his  lean  face  lit 
with  the  light  of  battle. 

* '  Popped  my  head  on  deck, ' '  cried  Hank,  ' '  and 
saw  a  fellow  on  the  wharf -side — I'll  swear  it  was 
Jake.  He  lit,  and  then  I  saw  another  one 
hunched  down  by  the  skylight.  You  heard  me 
kicking  him  off. ' ' 

"Who's  JakeT"  asked  Candon,  who  had  taken 
his  seat  again  at  the  table. 

' '  Watchman  I  fired  for  handing  me  lies  more  'n 
a  fortnight  ago." 

"Well,"  said  Candon,  "the  other  man  was 
Mullins,  if  I  have  my  ears  on  my  head. ' ' 

"Who'sMullins?" 

"Black  Mullins,  McGinmV  left  hand.  Boys, 
we've  gotta  get  out.  How's  the  wind?" 

"Nor'  west,"  said  Hank. 

"And  there's  a  moon.  Boys,  we've  gotta  get 
right  out  now,  get  the  whaleboat  over  and  the 
Chinks  ready  for  a  tow  clear  of  the  wharf.  Let's 
see,  the  whole  of  the  Heart  crowd  will  be  over  at 
Tiburon,  the  old  Heart  will  be  in  dry  dock,  for 


74  VANDERDECKEN 

she'd  started  a  butt  and  there's  weeks'  work  on 
her,  so  they  won't  be  able  to  use  her  to  chase  us 
for  another  fortnight,  get  me?  Well,  see  now, 
that  guy  will  be  back  in  Tiburon  somewhere  about 
two  hours  or  more  and  he'll  rouse  the  hive.  He'll 
have  seen  me,  lookin'  down  through  the  skylight, 
and  he'll  know  you're  starting  to-morrow.  Not 
having  a  ship  to  chase  us,  they'll  board  us. 
You  '11  have  a  boatload  of  gunmen  alongside  some- 
where about  two  in  the  morning. ' ' 

"You  mean  to  say  they'll  board  us?"  cried 
George. 

"Yep." 

"But  what  about  the  police?" 

"Police!  Nothing.  Why  they'd  beat  it  in  a 
quick  launch  before  the  cops  had  begun  to  remem- 
ber they  weren't  awake." 

"Well,  let's  notify  the  police  and  have  an  am- 
bush ready  for  them." 

* '  Not  me, ' '  said  Candon.  * '  I  don 't  want  to  have 
any  dealings  with  the  law.  Why  if  McGinnis  and 
his  crowd  were  taken,  they'd  swear  Lord  knows 
what  about  me.  Besides  I'm  not  friends  with  the 
bulls.  I'm  no  crook,  I've  never  looked  inside  a 
jail,  but  I've  seen  enough  good  men  done  in  by 
the  law  to  make  me  shy  of  it. ' ' 

"But  see  here,"  said  Hank.  "I  can't  take  her 
out  at  night.  I  don't  know  the  lights,  I'd  pile  her 
up  sure." 

"I'll  take  her  out,"  said  Candon,  "I'd  take  her 


NIGHT  75 

out  with  my  eyes  shut.  It's  near  full  moon  and 
we'll  have  the  ebb,  what  more  do  you  want?" 

Hank  turned  to  George. 

"  Let 's  get  out, ' '  said  George.  * '  We  don 't  want 
a  mix-up  with  those  people ;  if  we  get  piled,  why 
we  have  the  boat." 

Hank  turned  to  Candon. 

' '  You  're  sure  you  can  do  it  I " 

"Sure." 

'  *  Then  come  on, ' '  said  Hank.  He  led  the  way  on 
deck. 

The  wharf  was  deserted.  To  the  left  of  them 
lay  the  bay,  silver  under  the  moonlight  and 
spangled  here  and  there  with  the  lights  of  ship- 
ping at  anchor.  Whilst  Hank  trimmed  the  side 
lights  and  Candon  attended  to  the  binnacle  light, 
George  went  forward  to  rout  out  the  Chinks.  He 
found  them  finishing  their  supper.  Lee  Wong  Juu 
was  their  cook  as  well  as  boss,  he  had  lit  the  galley 
stove  on  his  own  initiative  and  made  tea.  They 
had  brought  provisions  enough  for  supper. 
Their  chests  were  arranged  in  order,  everything 
was  in  apple-pie  trim  and  as  they  sat  on  their 
bunk  sides  with  their  tin  mugs  in  their  hands  and 
their  glabrous  faces  slewed  round  on  the  intruder, 
they  looked  not  unlike  a  company  of  old  maids  at 
a  tea  party. 

George  gave  his  order  and  they  rose,  put  away 
their  mugs  and  followed  him  on  deck. 

The  whaleboat  had  cost  Hank  ninety-five 
dollars,  second-hand.  It  was  not  a  real  whale- 


76  VANDERDECKEN 

boat,  either  in  size,  make  or  fittings,  but  good 
enough  for  their  purpose,  carvel  built,  four-oared, 
with  tins  fixed  beneath  the  thwarts  to  help  float 
her  in  case  of  a  capsize. 

Candon  was  standing  by  the  boat  as  George 
came  on  deck. 

In  the  rapid  moments  that  had  come  on  them 
since  the  spy  had  been  kicked  off  the  ship,  Candon 
had  gradually  gained  supremacy,  without  effort, 
one  might  say.  The  man  had  arisen  and  was 
rising  to  the  emergency  like  a  swimmer  on  a  wave, 
bearing  the  others  with  him.  He  was  giving 
orders  now  quietly  and  without  fuss. 

They  got  the  boat  afloat  with  the  four  Chinks 
in  her,  and,  the  tow  rope  having  been  fixed, 
Candon  got  into  her,  having  cast  off  the  mooring 
ropes.  Hank  took  the  wheel  of  the  schooner. 
George,  standing  silent  beside  Hank,  heard  the 
creak  and  splash  of  the  oars.  Then  came  the 
chug  and  groan  of  the  tow-rope  tightening,  then 
slowly,  almost  imperceptibly  the  bowsprit  of  the 
Wear  Jack  began  to  veer  away  from  the  wharf. 
And  now  to  port  and  starboard  lay  the  glittering 
harbour  water  and  astern  the  long  line  of  the 
wharves  began  to  show  with  the  electrics  blazing 
here  and  there  where  they  were  working  cargo 
overtime.  As  the  wharves  receded,  they  stole 
into  a  world  of  new  sounds  and  lights.  San  Fran- 
cisco began  to  show  her  jewelry,  glittering  ribbons 
of  electrics,  crusts  of  gems;  on  the  port  bow  the 
lights  of  Oakland,  far  across  the  water,  answered 


NIGHT  77 

to  the  lights  of  San  Francisco,  and  across  the 
scattered  silver  ferry  boats  showed  like  running 
jewels.  The  wind  from  the  north  west  came 
steady  and  filled  with  the  breath  of  the  unseen  sea. 

"Lord!"  said  Hank,  "how  much  further  is  he 
taking  us?  Seems  like  as  if  he  were  making  for 
Oakland." 

"He  knows  what  he  is  doing,"  said  George. 

"Sure." 

They  held  on. 

A  Chinese  junk  passed,  with  her  lateen  sail 
bellying  to  the  wind,  and  then  came  along  a  yacht, 
lighted  and  riotous  as  a  casino,  with  a  jazz  band 
playing  "Suwanee."  It  passed  and  the  great 
quietude  of  the  night  resumed.  Still  the  tow 
kept  on. 

Then  came  a  voice  from  alongside.  Candon  had 
cast  off  the  rope  and  was  coming  on  board. 

To  George,  just  in  that  moment,  the  whole 
scene  and  circumstance  came  as  an  impression 
never  to  be  forgotten;  the  silence  following  the 
casting  off  of  the  rope,  the  vast  harbour  surface, 
glittering  like  a  ball-room  floor,  where  the  helpless 
Wear  Jack  lay  adrift,  the  lights  of  'Frisco  and 
the  lights  of  Oakland  and  the  secrecy  and  neces- 
sity for  despatch  lest,  drifting  as  they  were,  they 
should  be  side-swiped  by  some  Bay  boat  in  a 
hurry.  But  he  had  little  time  for  thought.  Candon 
was  on  board,  the  boat  was  got  in  and  the  slack  of 
the  tow-rope,  and  Candon  at  the  wheel  began  to 
give  his  orders  with  speed  but  without  hurry. 


78  VANDERDECKEN 

The  mainsail  rose  slatting  against  the  stars, 
then  the  foresail;  a  Chink  cast  the  gaskets  off 
the  jib,  whilst  the  Wear  Jack,  trembling  like  an 
undecided  and  frightened  thing,  seemed  to  calm 
down  and  take  heart.  The  slatting  of  the  canvas 
ceased.  They  were  under  way. 

Candon  seemed  steering  for  Oakland,  then  the 
Oakland  lights  swung  to  starboard  and  passed 
nearly  astern.  They  were  making  for  Alcatraz. 
The  lights  of  San  Francisco  were  now  to  port  and 
the  city  showed  immense,  heaving  itself  against 
the  moonlight;  Nobs  Hill,  Telegraph  Hill,  Rus- 
sian Hill,  all  ablaze  beneath  the  moon,  slashed 
with  lines  of  light.  Away  beyond  Angel  Island 
showed  the  lights  of  Tiburon. 

Right  under  Alcatraz,  Candon  put  the  helm 
hard  over;  the  canvas  thrashed  and  filled  again 
and  the  Wear  Jack  settled  down  on  her  new  tack, 
heading  for  the  Presidio.  Close  in,  the  helm  went 
over  again,  the  canvas  fought  the  wind  and  then 
filled  on  the  tack  for  Lime  Point,  the  northern 
gate  post  of  the  Golden  Gate. 

The  breath  of  the  sea  now  came  strong,  spray 
came  inboard  from  the  meeting  of  wind  and  ebb 
tide  and  the  Wear  Jack  began  to  thrash  at  the 
tumble  coming  in  from  the  bar. 

Under  Lime  Point  she  came  about  on  the  port 
tack,  taking  the  middle  passage.  Then  beyond 
Pont  Bonito  came  the  tumble  of  the  bar.  The 
wind  was  not  more  than  a  steady  sailing  breeze 
but  the  long  rollers  coming  in  from  Japan  gave 


NIGHT  79 

them  all  the  trouble  they  wanted,  though  the 
Wear  Jack,  proving  her  good  qualities,  shipped 
scarcely  a  bucket  full.  Then  the  sea  smoothed 
down  to  a  glassy  breeze-spangled  swell  and  the 
schooner,  with  the  loom  of  the  land  far  on  her  port 
quarter,  spread  her  wings  beneath  the  moon  for 
the  south. 


CHAPTER  XII 

OUT 

CANDON  handed  the  wheel  over  to  Hank. 
''Well,  we're  out,"  said  he.  "Keep  her  as 
she  goes,  the  coast's  a  straight  line  down  to 
Point  San  Pedro,  and  I  don't  want  to  clear  it  by 
more  than  ten  miles."  He  lit  a  pipe  and  walked 
to  the  port  rail,  where  he  stood  with  the  pipe  in 
his  mouth  and  his  hands  on  the  rail  looking  at 
the  land. 

George  stood  beside  him.  The  crew  had 
vanished  to  the  foc'sle,  now  that  everything  was 
comfortable,  leaving  the  deck  to  the  three  white 
men ;  no  watches  had  been  picked  nor  was  there  a 
look-out.  George  remarked  on  the  fact  and  Can- 
don  laughed. 

"I'd  just  as  soon  leave  the  Chinks  below,"  said 
he,  "and  run  her  ourselves  for  the  rest  of  the 
watch.  Half  a  man  could  handle  her  as  the  wind 
is,  and  as  for  a  look-out,  why  I  reckon  nothing 
could  sink  us  to-night.  Boys,  I'm  sure  bug- 
house, I  never  took  a  ship  out  of  'Frisco  bay  be- 
fore two  hours  ago." 

"You  what!"  said  George. 

80 


OUT  81 

"What  I'm  telling  you.  It  came  on  me  to  do  it 
and  I  did  it.  I've  been  in  and  out  often  enough, 
but  never  at  the  wheel  nor  navigating.  I  had  the 
lay  of  the  place  in  my  head  but  it  was  a  near 
touch." 

Hank  at  the  wheel  gave  a  laugh  that  sounded 
like  a  cough. 

"I  felt  it  in  my  bones,"  said  Hank. 

"What?"  asked  Candon. 

"Why  that  you  were  driving  out  half  blind;  as 
near  as  paint  you  had  us  on  to  Alcatraz  and  you 
all  but  rammed  the  Presidio.  I  was  standing  on 
my  toes  wanting  to  yell  '  Put  your  helm  over, '  but 
I  kept  my  head  shut,  didn  't  want  to  rattle  you. ' ' 

"Bughouse,  clean  bughouse,"  said  Candon. 
' ' Makes  me  sweat  in  the  palms  of  my  hands  now 
I've  done  it,  but  I  tell  you  boys,  I  couldn't  have 
missed.  Going  by  night  like  that  one  can't  judge 
distance  and  as  for  the  lights,  they'd  better  have 
been  away,  but  I  couldn't  have  missed,  I  was  so 
certain  sure  of  myself.  It  comes  on  me  like  that 
at  times,  I  get  lifted  above  myself,  somehow  or 
another." 

"I'm  the  same  way  myself,"  said  Hank,  "it 
comes  on  me  as  if  I  got  light-headed  and  I'm 
never  far  wrong  if  I  let  myself  go.  Bud  here  will 
tell  you  I  rushed  this  expedition  through  more  by 
instinct  than  anything  else — didn't  I,  Bud?" 

But  assented,  unenthusiastically. 

George  Harley  du  Cane,  out  and  away  now  with 
the  Pacific  beneath  him  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 


82  VANDERDECKEN 

far-off  loom  of  the  land,  was  thinking.  He  had 
recognized,  even  before  starting,  that  Hank  and 
Candon  were,  temperamentally,  pretty  much 
birds  of  the  same  feather.  Not  only  had  their  dis- 
cussions as  to  socialism  and  so  forth  seemed  to 
him  pretty  equally  crazy,  but  he  had  recognized, 
in  a  dim  sort  of  manner,  that  they  infected  one 
another  and  that  their  " bughouse"  qualities  were 
not  diminished  by  juxtaposition.  However,  safe 
in  port,  the  sanity  or  insanity  of  his  companions, 
expressed  only  in  conversation  about  abstract  and 
uninteresting  affairs,  did  not  seem  to  matter.  Out 
here  it  was  different,  somehow,  especially  after 
the  exhibition  Candon  had  just  given  them  of 
daring  carried  to  the  limits  of  craziness.  And 
who  was  Candon,  anyhow?  A  likable  man,  sure 
enough,  but  the  confessed  associate  of  more  than 
shady  characters,  and  they  had  accepted  this  man 
on  his  face  value,  as  a  pilot  in  an  adventure  that 
was  sure  to  be  dangerous,  considering  the  char- 
acter of  the  man  they  were  out  to  hunt. 

Well,  there  was  not  a  bit  of  use  bothering.  He 
had  gone  into  the  business  with  his  eyes  open. 
There  he  was,  wealthy,  at  ease  with  all  the  world, 
talking  to  those  men  in  the  club,  when  in  came 
Hank  with  his  lunacy,  saying  he  was  going  to 
catch  Vanderdecken.  He  had  followed  the  Eat 
Trap  Inventor  out,  taken  his  arm  and  insisted  on 
becoming  part  and  parcel  of  his  plans.  Why? 
He  could  not  tell  why.  And  now  he  was  tied  up  in 
a  venture  with  Chinks  and  two  cranks ;  a  venture 


OUT  83 

which,  if  it  failed,  would  make  him  ridiculous,  if 
it  succeeded  might  make  him  a  corpse.  He  might 
now  have  been  respectably  shooting  in  the  Eockies 
only  for  his  own  stupidity. 

Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  came  a  question  to  his 
mind,  "Would  you  sooner  be  respectably  shooting 
in  the  Eockies  or  here?"  Followed  by  the  sur- 
prising and  immediate  answer,  "Here."  Bug- 
house— clean  bughouse — but  the  fact  remained. 

It  was  now  getting  on  for  two  in  the  morning, 
and  he  went  below,  leaving  the  deck  to  the  others. 
They  intended  carrying  on  till  four,  and  then 
rousing  the  crew  up  for  the  morning  watch. 

They  told  him  they  would  call  him  when  they 
wanted  him  and  he  turned  in,  dropping  to  sleep 
the  instant  his  head  touched  the  pillow.  When  he 
awoke  it  was  daylight,  water  dazzles  were  at  play 
on  the  Venesta  panellings,  as  the  early  sunlight 
through  the  portholes  shifted  to  the  lift  of  the 
swell,  snores  from  the  two  other  occupied  bunks 
seemed  to  keep  time  to  the  movement  of  the 
Wear  Jack  and  from  the  topmost  starboard  bunk, 
Hank's  py jama-clad  leg  hung  like  the  leg  of  a 
dead  man. 

The  whole  of  the  after-guard  had  turned  in, 
leaving  apparently  the  schooner  to  run  herself. 
He  turned  out  and  without  stopping  to  wake  the 
others  came  hurriedly  up  the  companion  way  on 
deck. 


CHAPTEE  XHI 

THE  BAY  OF   WHALES 

THE  sun  was  up  and  away  to  port  lay  Cali- 
fornia, lifting  her  hills  to  heaven  against 
the  morning  splendour,  to  starboard,  a  mile 
or  so  away,  a  big  freighter,  in  ballast  and  showing 
the  kick  of  her  propeller,  was  pounding  along 
north  with  the  sunlight  on  her  bridge  canvas. 
Even  at  that  distance  George  could  hear  the  thud 
of  her  screw  like  the  beating  of  a  heart. 

A  Chinaman  was  at  the  helm  of  the  Wear  Jack, 
Champagne  Charley  no  less,  and  forward  another 
celestial  was  emptying  a  slush  tub  over  the  port 
rail. 

George  nodded  to  the  helmsman,  and  then, 
taking  his  seat  on  the  skylight  edge,  contemplated 
the  coast. 

George's  yachting  experience  had  been  mainly 
confined  to  the  Bay.  He  could  steer  a  boat  under 
sail,  but  of  deep  sea  work  and  cruising  in  big 
yachts  he  knew  practically  nothing.  Still,  even 
to  his  uninitiated  mind,  this  thing  seemed  wrong. 
Candon  and  Hank  had  evidently  left  the  deck  at 
the  beginning  of  the  morning  watch,  that  is  to  say 

84 


THE  BAY  OF  WHALES  85 

four  o'clock,  leaving  the  Chinks  to  run  the  show. 
They  had  been  running  it  for  three  hours  or  so 
and  doing  it  satisfactorily,  to  all  appearances. 
Still  it  didn't  seem  right. 

He  determined  to  go  for  the  other  two  and 
give  them  a  piece  of  his  mind  and  then,  when,  a 
few  minutes  later,  they  came  on  deck  yawning 
and  arrayed  in  their  pyjamas,  he  didn't.  They 
seemed  so  perfectly  satisfied  with  themselves  and 
things  in  general  that  it  was  beyond  him  to  start 
complaining.  Instead  he  went  down  and  tubbed 
in  the  bathroom.  An  hour  later,  as  he  was  seated 
at  breakfast  with  the  two  others,  his  whole 
attitude  of  mind  towards  ''Chinks"  had  changed, 
for  the  schooner  was  running  on  her  course  with 
scarcely  a  tremor  of  the  tell-tale  compass,  the 
breakfast  was  set  as  if  by  a  parlour-maid,  and  the 
ham  and  eggs  were  done  to  perfection.  More  than 
that,  they  were  waited  upon  by  a  waiter  who  knew 
his  business,  for  when  he  had  done  handing  things 
round,  he  vanished  without  a  word  and  left  them 
to  talk. 

"Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  Candon,  in  reply  to 
a  remark  of  George's.  "Those  Chinks  could  run 
this  packet  by  themselves.  When  a  Chinaman 
signs  on  as  an  A.  B.,  he  is  one.  He  doesn't  pre- 
tend to  be  what  he  isn't,  not  on  a  ship  running 
out  of  'Frisco  anyhow,  and  he's  more,  every 
Chinaman's  a  cook  and  a  laundress  and  it's  ten 
to  one  he's  a  tailor  as  well.  I  tell  you,  when  I 
think  of  what  one  Chink  can  do  and  what  one 


86  VANDERDECKEN 

white  man  generally  can't,  I  get  frightened  for 
the  whites."  Hank  was  cutting  in,  and  an  argu- 
ment on  the  colour  question  between  these  two 
was  prevented  only  by  George  remembering 
something  of  more  immediate  moment. 

"Look  here,"  said  he  to  Candon,  " can't  you 
tell  us  more  about  Vanderdecken  now  we're  out. 
What  I  mean  to  say  is  the  plans  you  have  about 
him.  Where  are  we  going,  anyway?" 

"South,"  said  Candon. 

"I  know  that,"  said  George,  "but  where  south? 
South 's  a  big  place." 

"It  is,"  said  the  other;  "too  big  for  guessing, 
but  now  we're  out  and  I'm  going  to  put  you 
wise.  First  of  all,  I  promised  you  to  put  this 
guy's  boodle  into  your  hands,  and  second  I 
promised  you  the  guy  himself.  I  hung  off  from 
telling  you  the  location  till  you'd  done  your  part 
of  the  contract  and  got  me  out  away  from  the 
McGinnis  crowd.  Well,  you've  done  your  part 
and  here's  mine.  The  place  I'm  taking  you  is 
known  by  the  Mexicans  as  the  Bay  of  Whales." 

"The  Mexicans!"  said  George. 

"Yep.  We've  got  to  turn  the  corner  of  Lower 
California,  that's  to  say  Cape  St.  Lucas,  then  out 
across  the  Bay  of  California  for  the  Mexican 
coast  and  the  Bay  of  Whales.  It's  away  above 
Jalisco.  It's  worth  seeing.  I  don't  know  how  it 
is,  maybe  it's  the  currents  or  the  winds  or  just  a 
liking  for  a  quiet  burying  ground,  but  every  old 
sulphur  bottom  that's  died  between  here  and  Tim- 


THE  BAY  OF  WHALES  87 

buctoo  seems  to  have  laid  his  bones  there.  There's 
a  Mexican  superstition  about  the  place,  maybe  on 
account  of  the  bones,  but  no  one  ever  goes  there. 
It's  the  lonesomest  place  on  God's  footstool,  the 
shore-along  ships  keep  clear  of  it  and  it's  all 
reefs  beyond  the  sand  of  the  bay  so  you  don't  get 
ships  putting  in.  I  tell  you,  you  could  photograph 
the  lonesomeness.  Well  there  the  boodle  is  and 
there  you  '11  put  your  hands  on  the  guy  you  want. ' ' 

Said  Hank:  "Look  here,  B.  C." — Candon  had 
come  down  to  initials  after  the  manner  of  'Frisco. 
* '  How  did  old  man  Vanderdecken  make  out,  any- 
way. What  I'm  getting  at  is  this:  I  figured  his 
fishing  grounds  to  be  the  Channel  Islands  and 
north  and  south  of  there,  but  that's  a  good  long 
way  from  St.  Lucas." 

1 '  That 's  so, "  said  Candon.  *  <  Well,  I '11  tell  you, 
right  along  till  near  the  end  he  used  to  keep  the 
stuff  he  got  aboard  his  own  hooker.  You're  right, 
his  lay  was  the  Channel  Islands.  But  finding  he'd 
made  the  place  too  hot  for  himself  all  right  along 
down  the  American  seaboard,  and  expectin'  to 
be  searched,  he  did  a  dive  for  the  bay  I  told  you 
of  and  there  he  cached  the  stuff,  and  I'm  the  only 
man  beside  himself  that  knows  where  the 
cache  is. 

"There,  I've  told  you  that  much.  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  say  how  I  got  so  thick  with  him  as  to  know 
his  plans  and  dispositions.  I  just  ask  you  to  take 
B.  C.'s  word  that  the  goods  are  according  to  the 
manifest. ' ' 


88  VANDERDECKEN 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Hank,  "I  don't  want 
to  dig  into  your  business,  all  I  want's  the 
Dutchman,  and  to  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder." 

"And  so  you  shall,"  said  B.  C.,  "'less  he  dies 
before  we  get  there." 

They  came  up  and,  Candon  taking  the  wheel, 
the  two  Chinamen  who  were  holding  the  deck 
dived  below.  An  hour  later,  the  Chinks  being 
called  up,  watches  were  picked,  George  falling  to 
Hank,  Champagne  Charley  to  Candon. 

Candon  being  the  most  knowledgeable  man  and 
the  best  sailor,  it  was  agreed  that  he  should  work 
the  ship. 

"You  can't  have  two  heads,"  said  Hank,  "and 
I  reckon  yours  is  better  than  mine  where 
navigating  her  is  concerned." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ST.  NICOLAS 

THE  Kuro  Shiwo  current  drives  northward 
up  the  coast  of  Japan,  crosses  the  Pacific 
and  comes  down  the  Pacific  Coast  of 
America,  bathing  the  Channel  Islands  and  giving 
them  their  equable  temperature.  This  great 
current  is  a  world  of  its  own;  it  has  its  kelp 
forests,  where  the  shark  hides,  like  a  tiger,  and  its 
own  peculiar  people,  led  by  the  great  swordfish  of 
Japan.  Japan  not  only  sends  her  swordsmen  of 
the  sea  to  keep  this  moving  street-like  world,  she 
lends  her  colours,  in  blues  vivid  and  surprising  as 
the  skies  and  waters  of  her  shadowless  pictures. 

One  morning,  shortly  after  sunrise,  George,  fast 
asleep  in  his  bunk,  was  hauled  out  by  Hank  to 
"see  the  Islands."  He  tumbled  out  and,  just  as 
he  was,  in  his  pyjamas,  followed  on  deck. 

Between  the  Kuro  Shiwo  and  the  wind  the 
Wear  Jack  was  making  a  good  ten  knots.  Pont 
Concepcion  on  the  mainland  lay  almost  astern, 
and  the  sun,  with  his  feet  still  on  the  mountains 
beyond  Santa  Barbara,  was  chasing  to  death  a  fog 
whose  last  banners  were  fluttering  amidst  the  foot 
hills. 

89 


90  VANDERDECKEN 

Away  ahead,  like  vast  ships  under  press  of 
sail,  rode  the  San  Lucas  Islands,  San  Miguel, 
Santa  Rosa,  Santa  Cruz,  their  fog-filled  canons 
white  in  the  sunlight. 

Later  in  the  morning,  with  the  San  Lucas 
Islands  far  astern,  San  Nicolas  showed  up  like  a 
flake  of  spar  on  the  horizon  to  the  south;  to  the 
sou '-east  appeared  a  trace  of  the  mountains  of 
Santa  Catalina. 

Candon,  who  was  on  deck  talking  to  George, 
pointed  towards  Santa  Catalina.  ''Looks  pretty 
lonely,  don't  itt"  said  he.  "Well,  that  place  is 
simply  swarming  with  millionaires.  Say,  you're 
something  in  that  way  yourself,  aren't  you?  So 
I  ought  to  keep  my  head  muzzled,  but  you'll 
understand.  I'm  not  going  against  you,  but  things 
in  general.  I  reckon  if  you'd  ever  roomed  in 
Tallis  Street,  'Frisco,  you'd  know  what  I  mean. 
I've  seen  big  poverty  and  when  I  see  millionaires 
sunning  themselves,  it  gets  my  goat — now  you 
know  what  I'm  gettin'  at." 

"Look  here,  B.  C.,"  said  George,  "cut  it  out. 
Most  of  the  millionaires  I  know  live  on  pap  and 
pills  and  work  like  gun  mules — " 

"Do  you?"  asked  Candon  laughing. 

"No,  I  don't,  but  I  expect  I  will  some  time; 
anyhow,  one  fool  exception  doesn't  count.  What 
I'm  getting  at  is  this,  chaps  like  you  and  Hank 
get  it  in  your  heads  that  the  bigger  a  man's  pile 
is,  the  more  he  enjoys  himself.  It's  the  other  way 


ST.  NICOLAS  91 

about,  seems  to  me ;  also  that  the  rich  man  lives  in 
a  world  of  his  own  with  laws  of  his  own — " 

''So  he  does,"  said  the  other.  "Now  you 
listen  to  me.  When  Prohibition  started,  how  did 
the  poor  man  stand?  Dry,  that's  how  he  stood, 
looking  at  the  other  people  with  their  cellars  full 
of  drink.  They  knew  the  law  was  coming  and  they 
laid  in." 

"That's  true,"  said  George. 

"It  is,"  said  Candon,  "and  some  day,  maybe, 
I  '11  tell  you  a  yarn  about  how  it  hit  me  once. ' ' 

Hank  came  on  deck  and  stood  with  eyes  shaded, 
looking  at  the  ghost  of  Santa  Catalina  on  the  sky 
line.  "There  she  is,"  said  Hank.  "You  can 
almost  see  the  flags  waving  and  hear  the  bands 
playing.  Bud,  didn't  you  ever  go  fishing  down 
that  way?  I  reckon  it  was  that  place  gave 
Vanderdecken  his  first  pull  towards  thievery, 
seeing  the  water  is  thick  with  Bank  Presidents 
and  Wheat  Cornerers  only  waiting  to  be  collected 
for  ransom.  Say,  B.  C.,  if  you  know  anything 
about  old  Vanderdecken,  tell  us  why  he  didn't 
hold  the  folks  he  caught  to  ransom  as  well  as 
picking  the  diamonds  and  money  off  them.  That's 
what  I'd  have  done.  1  would  sure.  Hullo!" 

A  leaping  tuna,  as  long  as  a  man  and  curved 
like  a  sword,  left  the  sea  on  the  starboard  bow, 
showed  its  colours  to  the  sun,  and  vanished  with  a 
splash. 

' '  Tuna, ' '  said  Candon. 

"Well,  what's  he  doing  here?"  asked  Hank, 


92  VANDERDECKEN 

"he's  out  of  his  waters,  this  ain't  the  tuna 
grounds. ' ' 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  George. 

"Lord,  oughn't  I  to  know,"  replied  Hank. 
"Why  I  was  on  the  fish  commission  ship  on  this 
section  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  sounding  and 
dredging  and  taking  specimens  of  the  fish  and  the 
weeds  and  Lord  knows  what  all.  That  was  five 
years  ago,  but  I  reckon  the  tuna  grounds  haven't 
altered  since  then. ' ' 

"They  lie  south  of  San  Clemente,  don't  they?" 
said  Candon. 

"They  do  not,  you're  thinking  of  albacore. 
The  tuna  grounds  are  east  of  Santa  Catalina 
mostly,  close  to  Avalon.  Why,  I  know  all  that 
place's  well  as  I  know  my  own  office.  I've  got  a 
hellnation  memory  for  facts  and  I  could  reel  off  to 
you  the  lie  of  the  fishing  grounds  most  all  along 
the  coast.  Bight  from  Rocky  Point  on  the 
mainland  the  fish  begin  running  in  shoals. 
Benito  you  get  mostly  at  Rocky  Point,  then 
albacore;  but  if  you  strike  out  for  the  Islands 
you'll  begin  to  get  big  things." 

"Whales?"  asked  George. 

"Whales  mostly  stick  to  the  Santa  Barbara 
channel,  there  aren't  many  now,  but  you  get 
killers  and  sulphur  bottoms  and  gray  whales — 
sharks,  too." 

Hank  lit  a  cigarette  and  leaning  on  the  port 
rail  looked  across  the  water  to  the  east.  Then  he 
came  forward  a  bit  and  looked  ahead. 


ST.  NICOLAS  93 

Away  ahead  and  a  bit  to  westward  something 
showed.  It  was  San  Nicolas,  San  Nicolas  no 
longer  sharply  denned  like  a  flame  of  spar,  but 
with  its  head  in  a  turban  of  new-formed  cloud. 
This  island,  eight  or  nine  miles  long,  forms  the 
western  outpost  of  the  Channel  Islands.  Unpro- 
tected, like  them,  by  Port  Concepcion,  it  receives 
the  full  force  of  wind  and  weather. 

The  others  came  close  to  Hank. 

"That's  her,"  said  Hank,  "that's  San  Nicolas. 
Ever  been  ashore  there,  B.  C.f" 

"Not  such  a  fool,"  said  Candon.  "I've  cruised 
about  these  waters  a  good  bit,  but  I've  never  met 
a  man  who  wanted  to  put  his  foot  there.  It's  all 
wind  and  sand  for  one  thing." 

"Well,"  said  Hank,  "I've  been  thinking, 
from  what  I  know  of  the  place,  that  Vanderdecken 
may  have  used  San  Nicolas  for  one  of  his  ports 
of  call.  What  do  you  say,  B.C.?" 

"Who  knows?"  said  Candon. 

"Did  you  land  on  San  Nicolas'?"  asked  George. 

"Oh  yes;  we  were  hanging  off  the  kelp  beds 
three  or  four  days." 

"I'd  like  to  land  there,"  said  George. 

"Well,  it's  easily  done,"  said  Hank.  "We 
could  tie  up  the  kelp  for  the  matter  of  that,  only 
I'm  afraid  the  Wear  Jack's  a  bit  too  big.  She 
might  drag  out.  Away  down,  further  south,  the 
kelp  vines  run  to  a  thousand  foot  long  and  you 
could  most  moor  a  battleship  to  them,  but  it's 


94  VANDERDECKEN 

different  here.  However,  we  can  anchor  if  you 
want  to.  What  do  you  say,  B.  C.f " 

"I'm  with  you,"  said  Candon.  "We  have 
plenty  of  time  and  a  day  won't  matter." 

"Not  a  cent,"  said  George. 

Candon  went  and  leaned  on  the  starboard  rail. 
For  the  last  two  days,  in  fact,  ever  since  he  had 
given  away  the  whereabouts  of  Vanderdecken's 
cache,  he  had  seemed  at  times  depressed.  Some- 
times he  would  be  in  high  good  spirits  and  some- 
times moping  and  silent.  Hank  had  noticed  it 
first  and  he  spoke  of  it  now  as  he  and  George 
went  forward  to  the  bow,  where  they  hung 
watching  the  boost  of  the  water  and  the  foam 
gouts  like  marble  shavings  on  lazalite. 

"Notice  B.  C.  has  the  dumps  again,"  said 
Hank.  "I  wonder  what's  working  on  him? 
Maybe  he  feels  himself  a  skunk  leading  us  on  to 
old  man  Vanderdecken." 

"He  said  that  was  all  right,"  said  George, 
"said  he  was  acting  perfectly  straight  and  that 
the  man  was  his  enemy.  Y'  know,  I  believe  in 
B.C." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Hank,  "but  what  in  the  nation's 
he  moulting  about,  that's  what  I  want  to  know. 
I  take  it  it's  just  sensitiveness;  even  though  the 
Dutchman  is  his  enemy,  he  don't  like  giving  him 
away.  I  can  understand  it. ' ' 

"I  can't  quite  make  him  out,"  said  George, 
"he's  intelligent  and  has  fine  ideas  about  things, 
yet  he  always  seems  to  have  lived  pretty  rough — " 


ST.  NICOLAS  95 

"And  what's  the  harm  of  that,"  cut  in  Hank. 
"Why,  it's  the  guys  that  have  lived  pretty  rough 
as  you  call  it  that  are  the  only  educated  citizens 
as  far  as  I  can  make  out.  They've  had  their 
noses  rubbed  into  the  world.  Why  look  at  me — 
I'm  not  saying  I'm  much,  but  all  I've  learned  of 
any  good  to  me  hasn't  come  out  of  class-rooms  or 
colleges.  Mind  you,  I'm  not  against  them,  I  don't 
say  they  're  no  use,  but  I  do  say  what  makes  a  man 
is  what  he  rubs  against." 

"He  seems  to  have  been  rubbing  against  some 
pretty  queer  characters  to  judge  by  the  Heart  of 
Ireland  lot, ' '  said  George. 

"That's  my  point,"  said  Hank.  "They've 
turned  him  respectable.  There's  many  a  man 
would  have  gone  to  the  bad  only  he's  been 
frightened  off  it  by  the  toughs  he's  met.  They're 
better  than  Sunday  school  books.  I  know,  for 
I've  been  there." 

An  hour  later,  San  Nicolas  was  plain  before 
them  and  an  hour  before  sunset  Beggs  Rock  was 
on  the  starboard  bow  and  only  a  mile  away.  San 
Nicolas,  itself  close  to  them,  now  showed  its 
peak,  nine  hundred  feet  high  with  its  changeless 
turban  of  cloud,  rosy  gold  in  the  evening  glow. 
From  the  peak  the  island  spilled  away  showing 
cleft  and  canon  and  high  ground  treeless  and 
devoid  of  life. 

They  cast  anchor  just  outside  the  kelp  ring. 
The  sun  was  just  leaving  the  sea.  Nothing  showed 
but  the  brown  lateen  sails  of  a  Chinese  junk, 


96  VANDERDECKEN 

standing  in  shore  about  two  miles  away.  She 
rounded  a  promontory  and  vanished  from  sight. 

"That's  a  Chow  fishing  boat,"  said  Hank. 
"They  go  scraping  along  all  down  this  coast, 
hunting  for  abalones  and  turtle  and  whatever  they 
can  lay  their  hands  on. ' ' 

"That's  so,"  said  Candon,  "I've  met  in  with 
them  right  down  to  the  Gulf  of  California  and 
beyond.  It's  against  the  law  to  take  abalones  in 
most  places  round  here,  but  much  they  care. ' ' 

"They'd  lay  hands  on  any  old  thing,"  said 
Hank.  "Wonder  what  that  crowd  is  doing 
here!" 

The  morrow  was  to  tell  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHAT  THE  CHINKS  WEBB  DOING 

THEY  had  fixed  to  row  ashore  after  breakfast 
but  fishing  held  them  till  afternoon. 
Candon,  not  keen  on  the  business  of 
climbing  over  rocks,  remained  behind  to  finish 
tinkering  at  the  engine  which  he  had  almost  got 
into  working  order. 

Usually  there  is  a  big  swell  running  here,  but 
to-day  there  was  only  a  gentle  heave  lifting  the 
long  green  vine  tendrils  of  the  kelp.  It  was  like 
rowing  over  a  forest.  On  the  beach  they  left  the 
boat  to  the  two  Chinamen  who  had  rowed  them 
off  and,  Hank  leading  the  way,  they  started  to  the 
right  towards  the  great  sand  spit  that  runs  into 
the  sea  for  half  a  mile  or  more. 

A  Farallone  cormorant,  circling  in  the  blue 
above,  seemed  to  watch  them ;  it  passed  with  a  cry, 
leaving  the  sky  empty  and  nothing  to  hear  but 
the  wash  of  the  sea  on  the  beaches  and  far  off  an 
occasional  gull's  voice  from  the  spit.  Beaching  a 
great  forward  leaning  rock,  they  took  their  seats 
in  the  shade  of  it  to  rest  and  light  their  pipes. 
The  sand  lay  before  them,  jutting  into  the  kelp- 
oily  sea  and  beyond  the  kelp  the  blue  of  the  kuro 

97 


98  VANDERDECKEN 

shiwo.  The  Wear  Jack  was  out  of  sight,  the 
horizon  seemed  infinitely  far  and  of  a  world  where 
men  were  not  or  from  whence  men  had  departed 
for  ever. 

"Say,  Bud,"  said  Hank,  leaning  on  his  side 
with  a  contented  sigh,  * '  ain  't  this  great ! ' ' 

" Which?"  asked  Bud. 

"The  lonesomeness.  Listen  to  the  gulls,  don't 
they  make  you  feel  just  melancholy. ' ' 

"Do  you  like  to  feel  melancholy?" 

"Depends  on  the  brand,  same  as  whisky.  Say, 
it's  funny  to  think  that  the  cars  are  running  down 
Market  Street  and  Tyrebuck  sitting  in  his  office 
and  J.  B. — he's  sitting  at  his  luncheon  by  this. 
Wonder  what  they  said  when  they  found  us  gone? 
Well  we  've  had  the  laugh  on  them  to  start  with. ' ' 

"I  hope  they  won't  have  the  laugh  on  us  at  the 
finish,"  said  George. 

"Don't,"  said  Hank,  "it  makes  me  feel  doddery 
to  think  of  us  going  back  like  dogs  with  our  tails 
down  and  no  Dutchman — hell!  no,  you  don't  see 
me  back  in  'Frisco  empty-handed,  never.  Was 
you  ever  laughed  at,  Bud!" 

"Heaps  of  times." 

"Laughed  at  in  the  papers!" 

"No." 

"Well,  that's  what  I  mean.  I've  been,  and  1 
know." 

"What  was  the  business?" 

"Oh,  it  was  a  girl." 

"What  did  she  do?" 


WHAT  THE  CHINKS  WERE  DOING  99 

"It  wasn't  what  she  did  so  much  as  what  she 
said.  It  was  this  way.  I  was  in  Pittsburg  one 
rainy  day  and  I  fell  in  with  a  girl;  she  wasn't 
more  'n  eighteen  and  down  on  her  luck.  She  asked 
me  the  way  to  somewhere  or  another  and  that's 
how  we  started  off.  She  'd  had  nothing  to  eat  that 
day  and  I  took  her  into  a  coffee  shop  and  stuffed 
her  up  with  buckwheat  cakes  and  truck  and  then 
she  told  me  her  story.  Said  she  had  to  meet  her 
father  at  the  station  that  evening  and  he  was  old 
and  infirm  and  they  had  to  look  for  rooms.  Well, 
it  seems,  somehow  or  another,  I  was  mug  enough 
to  help  her  look  for  rooms  and  stand  as  a  refer- 
ence and  lend  her  twenty  dollars,  and  when  the 
police  stepped  into  the  rooms  I  got  for  them  that 
night  and  took  the  grey  wig  and  patch  over  his 
eye  off  her  father  he  was  Sam  Brown,  the  biggest 
tough  out  of  N'  York,  with  five  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  stolen  diamonds  on  him.  I  managed  to 
clear  myself,  but  the  press  had  got  the  story  and 
I  tell  you,  Bud,  I  was  guyed  out  of  Pittsburg  and 
it  hurt  worse  than  kicking. ' ' 

"They  don't  go  in  for  sentiment  in  Pittsburg." 

"Nope,  steel  goods." 

"Well,  come  along,"  said  George,  "this  isn't 
prospecting  the  island. ' ' 

They  got  up  and  shook  the  sand  from  them- 
selves and  started  along  the  spit ;  then,  returning, 
they  began  to  climb.  The  Wear  Jack  came  into 
view,  anchored  beyond  the  kelp,  then  as  they  got 
higher  and  above  the  promontory  that  hid  the 


100  VANDERDECKEN 

next  bay,  they  saw  the  Chinese  junk  of  the  night 
before.  She  was  anchored  a  little  way  out.  On 
the  sands  of  the  bay  stood  three  strange  looking 
little  pyramids,  tents  evidently,  and  about  the 
tents  people  were  moving. 

"Now  what  in  the  nation  are  those  Chinks 
doing?"  said  Hank.  He  unslung  his  binoculars  he 
had  brought  with  him  and  leveled  them  at  the 
far-off  tents. 

" Chinks — one  of  them's  building  a  fire;  they've 
got  a  boat  up  on  the  sand.  Abalone  hunters,  most 
likely,  making  a  camp  here  for  the  fishing.  Say, 
Bud,  I  believe  they're  hatchet  men." 

"What  are  hatchet  men?" 

"Pirates  turned  inside  out  and  painted  to  look 
like  fishermen — just  robbers,  abalone  poachers 
and  smugglin'  if  they  can  get  a  chance,  wickedest 
lot  out  of  hell, — I'm  judging  by  the  look  of  them. 
Have  a  squint." 

He  handed  the  powerful  glasses  to  George  who 
leveled  them  in  the  direction  of  the  bay. 

The  field  of  sight  suddenly  swarmed  with 
Chinamen  moving  against  the  glitter  of  white 
sand.  Small,  dingy-looking  men,  wearing  big 
straw  hats, — a  fire  had  been  lit  and  the  white 
smoke  curled  upwards  against  the  tents.  Near 
one  of  the  tents  a  Chinaman  was  working  over  a 
heap  of  what  looked  like  abalones. 

"Hullo!"  cried  George. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Hank. 

"There's  a  white  man  with  them,  he's  just 


WHAT  THE  CHINKS  WERE  DOING         101 

come  out  of  one  of  the  tents — a  long  thin  looking 
devil.  What  on  earth's  he  with  them  for?" 

Hank  took  the  glass. 

"Sure  enough  there  is,"  said  Hank,  "look  at  his 
hair  all  hanging  over  his  face.  He  looks  to  be 
bossing  the  Chinks.  It's  plain  now  what  they  are. 
Smugglers,  opium  or  dope  of  some  sort.  I've 
heard  the  trade 's  in  the  hands  of  whites,  they  run 
it  into  Santa  Barbara  plugged  into  abalone  shells. 
Bud!  Say!  Bud!  There's  a  girl!  She's  just  come 
out  of  the  right-hand  tent  with  a  little  chap  after 
her,  looks  like  a  Mexican.  She's  a  white — looks 
like  a  lady — she's  crying,  she's  got  her  handker- 
chief to  her  face — Bud,  this  gets  me!" 

George  snatched  the  glass. 

Hank  was  right.  There  was  a  girl  amidst  the 
horrid  crowd.  She  was  no  longer  crying,  she  had 
taken  her  seat  on  the  sand  in  a  dejected  sort  of 
manner  and  seemed  watching  the  others  as  they 
moved  about  at  their  work.  Even  at  that  distance, 
it  was  obvious  that  she  was  of  a  different  class 
from  the  rest. 

"Well,  I'm  damned,"  said  George. 

"Look!  that  beastly  big  chap  seems  jawing  at 
her. ' '  Hank  snatched  the  glass. 

He  saw  the  long  man  standing  in  front  of  the 
girl  whom  he  seemed  to  have  ordered  to  her  feet ; 
he  seemed  angry  about  something.  Then  the 
unfortunate  girl  turned  and  went  off  towards  one 
of  the  tents.  She  seemed  about  to  enter  it  when 


102  VANDERDECKEN 

she  collapsed,  cast  herself  on  the  sand  and  lay, 
her  face  hidden  on  her  arm. 

4 'Hell!  "cried  Hank. 

He  shut  the  glass,  thrust  it  into  its  case  and 
started  off  down  the  rocks,  George  following. 

"Where  are  you  going  to!"  cried  George. 

"Bust  up  that  hive,"  cried  Hank.  "That's 
white  slave,  clean  white  slave.  Come  along  to  the 
ship  and  fetch  Candon  and  the  guns.  This  is 
better  than  Vanderdecken. ' ' 

Tumbling,  slipping,  clawing  at  bushes,  whoop- 
ing like  a  red  Indian,  he  led  the  way,  George 
labouring  behind,  till  they  reached  the  beach 
where  the  boat  of  the  Wear  Jack  lay,  the  two 
Chinks  close  by  it  on  the  sand,  smoking  and 
playing  fan-tan.  The  boat  was  shoved  off. 

* '  You  mean  fighting  them  f ' '  asked  George.  His 
throat  was  dry  and  his  lips  were  dry.  He  had  seen 
the  Great  War  and  bursting  shells  and  had  risked 
his  life  a  dozen  times,  but  all  that  seemed  nothing 
to  the  imminent  attack  on  that  horrid  crowd  over 
there  on  the  beach  beyond  sight. 

"Oh,  Lord,  no,"  said  Hank,  a  devilish  look  on 
his  lantern  face,  and  a  new  light  in  his  eyes.  "I'm 
going  to  cuddle  them.  Lay  into  it,  you  jade-faced 
sons  of  perdition.  'Nuff !  in  with  your  oars  and 
claw  on. ' ' 

They  tumbled  over  the  rail  of  the  Wear  Jack, 
Hank  shouting  for  Candon.  They  found  him 
below  coming  out  of  the  engine  place  with  a  lump 
of  cotton  waste  in  his  hand. 


WHAT  THE  CHINTKS  WERE  DOING         103 

''Come  into  the  saloon,"  cried  Hank.  "B.  C., 
we're  up  to  the  eyes  in  it.  Wacha  think,  we've 
struck  a  gang  of  Chinese  white  slavers  ^ith  a 
girl  in  tow."  He  explained. 

As  he  talked,  George  noticed  the  effect  on 
Candon.  He  leaned  forward  as  he  sat,  pulling  at 
the  hairs  of  his  beard ;  his  eyes  changed  in  colour, 
darkening  as  the  pupils  spread.  When  Hank  had 
finished,  Candon  leaned  back,  sought  mechanically 
in  his  pocket,  found  his  pipe  and  put  it  between 
his  teeth,  but  he  did  not  light  it. 

"They're  white  slavers,"  said  Hank. 

"Sure,"  said  Candon.  The  anger  consuming 
him  was  no  less  visible  for  the  calm  that  covered 
it.  Then  he  broke  out.  "There  you  have  things 
as  they're  going  on,  and  your  beautiful  laws, 
where  are  they?  I  tell  you,  boys,  white  women 
are  being  snatched  off  to  China  every  week  that 
goes,  and  white  men  are  helping.  It's  all  part  of 
a  business  mixed  up  with  opium  smuggling  and 
dope  selling.  Well,  we've  gotta  get  that  girl  from 
them.  Question  is,  how  ? ' ' 

"Land  right  away  and  go  for  them.  I've  got 
the  guns,"  said  Hank,  going  to  a  locker  and  pro- 
ducing the  armaments  for  the  voyage,  three 
Lugger  automatics.  "Here's  the  persuaders  and 
the  Chinks  will  help. ' ' 

"One  minute,"  said  Candon.  He  was  thinking 
hard,  nearly  biting  through  the  pipe  stem.  Then 
he  spoke.  "It's  getting  on  for  sun-down.  Better 
wait  till  the  dark  comes,  then  we  can  rush  them. 


104  VANDERDECKEN 

They'll  think  it's  the  police  if  we  do  it  proper  and 
they  won't  be  able  to  count  our  numbers — how's 
the  wind?" 

"Dropped  dead." 

"Good,  there's  no  fear  of  them  putting  out 
before  we  fix  them,  they'll  stay  here  to-night, 
sure.  Once  we  get  the  girl  on  board,  we  can  put 
off,  wind  or  no  wind,  for  I've  got  the  engine  fixed. 
You  see,  if  we  put  up  a  fight  right  away  we'll 
have  all  those  Chinks  they  have  with  them  on  top 
of  us.  You  said  they  were  hatchet  men,  didn't 
you!  Fight  like  hornets;  whereas  in  the  dark- 
why  a  Chink  in  the  dark  is  no  good,  specially  if 
he  doesn't  know  what's  attacking  him.  Now,  my 
plan  is,  bust  their  camp  up  sudden,  yelling  and 
shooting  over  them ;  if  they  show  fight,  drill  them, 
but  it's  a  thousand  to  one  they'll  quit  and  scatter, 
thinking  it's  the  police.  Nail  the  girl,  get  her 
aboard  here  and  shove  off." 

"I'm  with  you,"  said  George. 

Hank  demurred  for  a  moment;  he  would  have 
preferred  to  attack  right  away ;  then,  after  a  little 
discussion,  he  fell  in  with  the  others. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

EVIDENCE  OF  CONTRABAND 

THEY  came  on  deck. 
It  wanted  little  more  than  two  hours  to 
sunset  and  the  eastern  sky  had  taken  that 
look  of  distance  which  only  comes  when  the  sun  is 
low  in  the  west. 

Hank,  who  was  the  first  on  deck,  called  to  the 
others  and  pointed  over  the  sea.  Something 
white  was  shearing  through  the  water  over  there, 
something  that  showed  up  at  once  through  the 
glass  as  a  high  power  motor  launch. 

"Boys,"  cried  Hank,  "it's  the  police,  it's  the 
cops  sure  as  certain,  and  we're  done  out  of  it." 

Candon  took  the  glass. 

"Don't  look  like  a  police  boat  to  me,"  said  he, 
"and  I  only  see  two  fellows  on  her.  Of  course, 
there  may  be  a  dozen  hid  away.  Looks  more 
like  to  me  that  it's  a  contrabander  done  up  as  a 
pleasure  launch.  "VVe  can't  see  anything  from 
here.  Let's  take  the  boat  and  push  out  so  that 
we  can  get  a  sight  of  the  next  bay." 

"They'll  spot  us,"  said  Hank. 

"They'll  spot  the  Wear  Jack  anyhow,"  said 

105 


106  VANDERDECKEN 

Candon.  "The  boat  doesn't  matter,  they'll  think 
we're  fishing." 

The  boat  was  still  alongside.  Led  by  Candon, 
they  got  in  and  pushed  off. 

Half  a  mile  out  the  next  bay  had  opened  enough 
to  show  them  the  junk  at  anchor  and  the  tents  on 
the  beach.  The  launch,  the  blue  water  shearing 
from  her  forefoot,  was  approaching  the  junk. 

Hank,  watching  through  the  glass,  reported: 
"They're  clawing  on.  There's  only  one  Chink 
on  the  junk,  he's  handing  over  parcels  and  taking 
things  aboard.  You're  right,  B.  C.,  it's  no  police 
affair;  it's  contraband  sure  enough.  Bend  over 
the  gunnel,  you  two,  and  pretend  to  be  fishing. 
Now  the  launch  is  putting  off  back  to  the  coast. 
Well,  that  settles  it." 

"Where  are  they  out  from?"  said  Hank. 

"Oh,  Santa  Barbara,"  said  Candon,  "sure 
thing." 

They  watched  the  launch  making  back  to  the 
coast,  then  they  took  to  the  oars  and  put  back  for 
the  schooner. 

"Well,"  said  George,  who  was  at  the  yoke 
lines,  "it  gets  me  how  these  sorts  of  things  are  let 
pass  by  the  law. ' ' 

"Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  Hank,  with  a  laugh. 
"Why,  girls  are  disappearing  every  week  in 
'Frisco,  they  get  inveigled  into  Chinatown  and 
that's  all.  They  get  taken  off  to  Canton  and  sold 
as  slaves  to  mandarins  or  worse." 


EVIDENCE   OF  CONTRABAND  107 

"But  how  do  the  Chinks  manage  to  get  them 
out  of  America ! ' '  asked  George. 

"You've  seen  it,"  said  Candon.  "You  said 
there  were  two  white  men  with  those  Chinese — 
that's  how.  The  traffic  wouldn't  stand  a  minute 
without  the  help  of  whites.  Money,  that's  what's 
the  mischief,  money  and  the  damned  capitalistic 
system  that  makes  money  king.  Lord,  I  want  to 
get  at  those  chaps,  I'm  sufferin'  to  get  at  those 
chaps."  He  stopped  rowing.  Hank,  equally 
excited,  also  rested  on  his  oar  till  George  cut  in 
and  they  resumed. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   SURPRISE 

THEY  came  alongside  the  Wear  Jack  just  as 
the  fires  of  sunset  began  to  pale  beyond  the 
peak  of  San  Nicolas. 

"Come  down  below,  boys,"  said  Candon. 

They  followed  him  to  the  cabin,  where  they 
took  their  seats,  whilst  he  filled  and  lit  a  pipe. 
Then,  with  the  pipe  in  his  mouth,  he  sat  with  his 
arms  resting  on  the  table  and  his  eyes  fixed 
straight  before  him. 

George  and  the  rat  trap  inventor  spoke  not  a 
word.  They  had  come  to  recognise  B.  C.  as  the 
better  man  in  a  lot  of  ways,  and  they  had, 
unconsciously  or  sub-consciously,  chosen  him  for 
their  leader  in  this  business  that  very  plainly 
meant  life  or  death.  They  were  about  to  attack 
a  hornets'  nest,  every  hornet  man-size  and  armed 
with  a  little  hatchet  instead  of  a  sting.  They  had 
no  side  arms,  nothing  but  the  Luggers.  On  the 
leader  everything  would  depend  and  they  felt 
they  could  depend  on  Candon. 

"We've  got  an  hour  and  a  half  before  we  need 
stir,"  suddenly  spoke  B.  C.,  "and  I've  got  the 
plan  of  how  to  work  this  business  all  laid  out  in 

108 


THE  SURPRISE  109 

my  head.  Maybe  you'll  leave  it  at  that  for  I've 
taken  notice  that  too  much  talking  muddles 
things.  You're  willing  to  take  my  word  to  go 
when  the  time  comes  and  follow  me ! ' ' 

"  Yes,  "said  Hank. 

Candon  slipped  the  old  Waltham  he  wore  from 
its  chain  and  laid  it  on  the  table  before  him. 

"That  being  so,"  said  he,  "I  want  half  an 
hour's  talk  with  you  two  on  something  that's  got 
nothing  to  do  with  this  business.  Don't  put  in  any 
questions  or  say  a  word  till  I  get  through.  For 
the  last  three  days  I've  been  keeping  my  head 
shut  against  my  better  feelings,  and  only  for  the 
fact  that  the  whole  three  of  us  may  be  laid  out 
before  morning,  I'd  have  gone  on,  maybe, 
keeping  it  shut  against  my  will,  so  to  say,  for  you 
are  two  of  the  whitest  men  I've  ever  fell  in  with. 
Boys,  I've  let  you  down  cruel.  I  promised  you 
the  Dutchman  and  you  shall  have  him  and  I 
promised  to  lead  you  to  where  he'd  stowed  his 
takings  and  that  promise  holds.  All  the  same, 
I've  not  been  straight  with  you.  I've  got  to  make 
things  straight,  right  away  or  bust,  that's  how  I 
feel.  Well,  here's  the  start.  We're  after  a  man 
by  the  name  of  Vanderdecken ;  that's  not  his 
name,  the  torn-fool  newspapers  put  it  on  him,  but 
let  it  hold  for  a  minute  while  I  tell  you.  This 
fellow  was  no  Dutchman ;  American  born  he  was, 
of  decent  parents,  but  born  wild  and  took  his  hook 
to  sea  when  he  wasn't  more'n  fourteen.  Now 
seeing  we're  hunting  him  I  want  to  give  you  his 


110  VANDERDECKEN 

character's  far  as  I  can  get  it  and  show  you  maybe 
he's  not  such  a  shark  as  people  have  made  out 
and  was  born  for  something  better  than  the  inside 
of  a  penitentiary  where  he's  sure  going  when  we 
have  him  lugged  back  to  'Frisco. 

"So,  I'm  telling  you,  he  hadn't  been  at  sea 
more'n  a  year  when  he  saved  two  men's  lives  from 
drowning  and  he  hadn't  been  more'n  three  years 
when  he  got  a  berth  as  fourth  officer  aboard  a 
Cape  Homer.  After  that  he  rose  steady, 
educating  himself  in  sea  practice  and  land  ways, 
reading  everything  he  could  lay  his  claws  on. 
Maybe  it  would  have  been  better  if  he'd  kept  his 
eyes  shut  and  worked  along  blind  like  most  chaps. 
But  he  couldn't  stop  thinking.  I  reckon  thinking 
ruins  more  men  than  drink.  The  world  seemed  all 
upside  down  to  him  with  the  rich  bugs  a-top  same 
as  the  fleas  on  a  dog's  back." 

"So  they  are,"  said  Hank.  "Heave  ahead." 
"Well,"  went  on  the  other,  "he  rose,  not  having 
any  use  for  liquor  and  being  a  good  practical  sea- 
man, till  he  got  his  master's  ticket  and  command 
of  a  full  rigged  packet  in  the  Shireman  line,  then 
he  lost  his  ship  through  no  fault  of  his  and  got 
fired.  The  Shiremans  had  a  down  on  him  over 
stores  he'd  condemned  as  not  fit  for  dogs,  let  alone 
able  seamen,  and  they'd  got  wind  he  was  a 
socialist,  and  they  crabbed  him  all  over  the 
shipping  companies'  offices.  Y'  know  they're  all 
hand  in  glove  with  their  secret  reports  and  so  on, 
and  Vanderdecken  couldn't  go  into  a  company's 


THE  SURPRISE  111 

office  unless  it  was  to  be  shown  out.  Having  to 
eat  he  went  back  to  the  foc'sle — that  was  in 
Liverpool,  and  worked  his  way  to  'Frisco.  From 
there  he  got  to  Nome  and  struck  it  rich  in  the 
Klondyke  and  got  robbed.  Then  he  began  to 
float  up  and  down  through  more  traverses  than 
I've  time  to  tell  you  of  till  the  Big  War  came  and 
he  heard  of  the  Lusitania.  That  drove  him  clean 
bughouse  and  he  got  across  the  pond  and  joined 
up  with  the  British  in  the  submarine  fight  and  got 
blown  up  in  drifters  till  he  was  nearly  deaf.  Then 
back  he  came  to  'Frisco,  which  was  his  port  of 
choice,  and  more'n  a  year  ago,  he  joins  up  with 
McGinnis  in  working  the  Heart  of  Ireland  on  all 
sorts  of  jobs  down  the  coast,  shark  fishing,  sea 
scraping  and  contraband.  He  was  a  pretty  sick 
man,  was  Vanderdecken,  with  the  world  and  the 
way  it  had  used  him,  but  it  wasn't  till  prohibition 
came  along  that  he  rose.  The  hull  place  went 
dry  and  they  chucked  the  liquor  down  the  drains 
in  Santa  Barbara,  all  that  wasn't  hid  away  in 
rich  men's  cellars.  Vanderdecken  wasn't  a 
drinking  man,  but  one  day  at  Santa  Barbara  he 
saw  a  lot  of  money  bugs  in  white  ducks  popping 
champagne  corks  on  a  yacht  and  that  blew  him 
up.  He  went  to  Pat  McGinnis  and  said  he,  'Look 
here,  Pat,  I've  got  a  notion,  let's  lay  for  a  yacht 
and  collar  their  drink  and  chuck  it  overboard.' 
Pat  didn't  seem  to  see  the  use  of  that,  nor  how  it 
would  bring  him  profit,  but  he  turned  it  over  in 
his  thick  head  and  the  idea  came  to  him  of  holding 


112  VANDERDECKEN 

a  yacht  up  and  robbing  it.  He  worked  up  the 
idea  and  put  it  before  Vanderdecken  who  fell  in 
with  it  like  a  fool,  on  the  condition  that  the  drink 
should  be  hove  over.  Vanderdecken  wasn't  after 
plunder,  but  he'd  gone  bughouse  on  getting  even 
with  the  champagne  guys,  and  he  had  to  fall  in 
with  the  other  and  pretend  he  was.  Then,  when 
everything  was  fixed  up,  Pat  got  cold  feet,  not 
from  virtue  but  fright,  and  nothing  would  have 
been  done  if  Vanderdecken  hadn't  taken  hold  of 
the  business  and  gingered  the  chaps  up.  He  took 
command  of  the  whole  business  and  then  the  fun 
began,  and  when  it  began  Vanderdecken  found 
himself  as  keen  on  taking  the  valuables  as  on 
dousing  the  drink.  But  there  wasn't  much  in  it. 
D'  you  know  for  all  the  hullaballoo  that's  been 
raised,  only  three  yachts  were  raided,  that's  a 
fact.  It  was  a  business  that  wouldn't  bear  much 
repeating  and  only  one  haul  was  really  lucky, 
for  the  fellow  had  his  wife  aboard  and  all  her 
diamonds  and  jewels;  anyhow,  taking  it  all 
together,  the  plunder  didn't  amount  to  more'n  ten 
or  fifteen  thousand  dollars  leaving  the  jewels 
aside,  and  they  might  be  worth  ten  thousand.  No 
knowing  till  they  were  sold.  But  there  was  a  lot 
of  fizz  and  claret  sent  to  hell,  but  you  never  heard 
of  that.  The  yacht  owners  kept  that  dark,  they 
didn't  want  to  be  laughed  at  for  one  thing,  and 
another,  the  rich  folk  are  mortally  afraid  of  the 
poor  folk  suddenly  rising  and  batting  them  over 
the  head  on  the  drink  question,  and  I've  just  been 


THE  SURPRISE  113 

thinking,  boys,  that  when  Vanderdecken's  led 
back  to  'Frisco,  there'll  be  no  penitentiary  for 
him  lest  the  rich  man's  cellar  business  should  be 
brought  too  much  to  notice,  and  the  guys  who  are 
poor  and  dry  may  say,  'Let's  do  what  Vander- 
decken had  the  guts  to  do'.  However,  after  the 
last  holdup,  the  Heart  of  Ireland  made  for  the 
Bay  of  Whales  and  Vanderdecken  and  McGinnis 
cached  the  takings,  and  Vanderdecken  changed 
the  cache  unknown  to  McGinnis.  Getting  towards 
'Frisco,  Vanderdecken  showed  his  hand  by 
hinting,  like  a  fool,  that  the  stolen  boodle  ought  to 
be  returned  to  its  owners.  That  roused 
McGinnis'  hair  and  the  bristles  on  the  hull  crowd. 
They  thought  they  were  going  to  be  done.  They 
let  Vanderdecken  ashore,  but  a  man  went  with 
him  to  watch  him  and  the  first  thing  Vander- 
decken heard  was  that  you  two  were  going  out  in 
a  schooner  to  hunt  for  him.  He  knew  he'd  never 
get  away  from  'Frisco  and  McGinnis  without  a 
knife  in  his  back,  so,  giving  the  chap  that  was  with 
him  the  slip,  he  hoofed  it  for  Sullivan's  wharf, 
and  dropped  aboard  the  Wear  Jack.  Boys,  I'm 
Vanderdecken  I*' 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  ATTACK 

THEY  had  guessed  it  for  the  last  few  minutes 
of  the  yarn.  To  gauge  the  effect  upon  them, 
one  must  remember  that  they  were  out  to 
hunt  the  narrator,  fearing  to  be  guyed  if  they  did 
not  catch  him.  What  would  the  guying  be  like 
when  the  real  fact  was  known?  The  fact  that  they 
had  been  sailing  to  hunt  for  Vanderdecken  with 
Vanderdecken  on  board,  and  not  only  on  board 
but  acting  as  sailing  master.  It  was  the  sort  of 
joke  that  becomes  immortal,  like  the  joke  about 
Handy  Andy  throwing  the  wash  jug  out  of  the 
window  instead  of  the  water,  the  sort  of  story  that 
would  preserve  the  protagonists  in  ridicule,  not 
for  years  but  for  ages. 

And  yet  there  was  no  spark  of  anger  in  the 
mind  of  Hank,  or  in  the  mind  of  George.  Candon, 
by  his  confession  and  story  and  evident  regret 
for  the  business,  had  drawn  their  teeth;  also  in 
the  last  few  days  he  had  taught  them  to  like  and 
admire  him,  and  in  some  extraordinary  way  he 
had  in  the  last  few  minutes  made  them  feel  that 
their  affairs  were  subordinate  to  his  and  that  they 
were  only  side  characters  in  a  story  that  was  his. 

114 


THE  ATTACK  115 

All  the  same  in  the  mind  of  each  lay  the  fact  that 
they  had  been  done  brown  and  the  conviction  that 
B.  C.  must  now  never  be  taken  by  the  police  even 
if  they  had  to  shoot  him. 

Hank  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "it's  a  Kid  Lewis  of  a  punch, 
there's  no  denying  it,  and  if  it  was  all  from  your 
own  shoulder,  B.  C.,  I'm  not  saying  I  wouldn't 
have  hit  back,  but  there's  more  in  this  than  a  man 
can  see.  Maybe  I'm  talking  through  my  hat,  but 
seems  to  me  it's  curious.  Me  putting  out  on  this 
show  and  J.  B.  advertising  me  and  you  coming 
into  'Frisco  on  top  of  the  advertisement  and 
taking  it  up.  Well,  there's  no  use  in  talking,  let's 
clean  the  slate.  I'm  not  sure  if  an  expedition  was 
putting  out  to  collar  Hank  Fisher,  I  wouldn't  join 
it  same  as  you  did,  specially  if  I  had  the  McGinnis 
crowd  after  me.  What  do  you  say,  Bud?" 

"Oh,"  said  George,  "what's  the  good  of 
talking.  Forget  it." 

"That's  easy  said,"  put  in  Candon,  "mind  you, 
I  don't  blame  myself  for  joining  in  with  you  same 
as  I  did,  you  were  after  me,  anyhow,  and  I  didn't 
know  you  from  Adam,  but  it  was  a  low-down 
trick  making  you  sign  that  contract,  binding  you 
to  put  me  ashore  with  five  thousand  dollars  in  my 
pocket  after  handing  you  over  the  Dutchman, 
which  was  myself.  That's  what's  been  getting 
me  the  last  few  days.  It  was  just  the  same  with 
the  yacht  business.  I  started  out  only  to  douse 
the  liquor,  but  when  it  came  to  stripping  the 


116  VANDERDECKEN 

diamonds  and  money  off  those  ducks  I  was  as 
keen  as  McGinnis,  then  when  the  thing  was  done 
and  the  stuff  safely  hived,  I  was  mortal  sorry  for 
myself.  I've  got  a  black  streak  in  me  and  that's 
the  truth,  nigger  black,  and  there's  no  use 
talking." 

"No  matter,"  said  Hank.  " Forget  it.  You've 
got  a  damn  big  white  streak  in  you,  B.  C.  I 
reckon  we're  all  pretty  much  striped  if  it  comes  to 
that — anyhow  what  we've  got  to  do  now  is  save 
that  girl  and  get  the  boodle.  You  can  skip  when 
we've  collared  the  stuff — it'll  be  something  to 
bring  back  to  'Frisco  anyhow." 

"I'm  going  back  with  you  to  'Frisco,"  said 
Candon,  "I'm  not  afraid  to  face  the  music." 

"Well,  there's  time  enough  to  talk  about  that," 
put  in  the  other.  "The  thing  is  now  to  get  the 
girl.  Time's  up  and  we've  got  to  start.  What's 
your  plan?" 

"Rush  them,"  said  Candon.  "Three  of  our 
Chinks  will  be  enough  with  us  to  help  in  the 
shouting,  go  and  pick  three  of  them,  will  you! 
Then  we'll  row  ashore,  leave  the  boat  beached, 
crawl  over  those  rocks  'tween  us  and  the  next  bay, 
get  right  up  to  the  edge  of  their  camp  and 
stampede  them,  shouting  like  ballyhoos  and  firing 
over  their  heads.  One  of  us  had  better  look  after 
the  girl  and  pick  her  up  and  waltz  off  with  her,  I 
reckon  I'm  the  strongest,  maybe,  and  I'll  do  the 
snatching — don't  use  more  than  two  rounds 
apiece  when  you  let  off  over  their  heads,  you'll 


THE  ATTACK  117 

maybe  want  the  rest  if  the  hatchet  men  show 
fight." 

"That's  clear,"  said  Hank.    "I'll  go  pick  the 

Chinks." 

He  left  the  cabin  and  the  two  others  turned 
their  attention  to  the  Lugger  pistols,  emptied 
the  magazines,  oiled  them,  tried  the  mechanism 
and  refilled  them.  Then  with  the  pistols  and 
extra  ammunition  they  came  on  deck. 

The  waning  moon  had  not  yet  risen,  but  the 
stars  were  beginning  to  blaze,  and  against  them 
the  peak  of  San  Nicolas  with  its  cloud  top  looked 
like  a  giant  with  a  turbaned  head.  Through  the 
windless  night  the  wash  of  the  waves  on  the 
beach  came  clear,  rhythmical,  slumbrous  like  the 
pulse  of  the  sleeping  sea. 

Hank  had  got  his  men  into  the  boat,  he  took 
the  pistol  handed  to  him  by  Candon  and  the 
ammunition,  then,  with  a  glance  at  the  deck  where 
Charley  was  in  charge,  he  led  the  way  overside 
and  the  boat  pushed  off. 

"  You  're  sure  of  the  Chinks'?"  asked  George  in 
a  whisper  as  they  rowed. 

"Sure,"  replied  Hank.  "I've  told  them 
they've  only  got  to  shout  and  I'll  give  five  dollars 
to  the  chap  that  shouts  the  loudest.  I  tipped  them 
that  these  guys  have  got  an  American  girl  with 
them  and  that  the  American  Government  will 
plaster  them  with  dollars  if  we  get  her  away — 
Oh,  they're  right  enough.  Now,  not  a  word  out  of 


118  VANDERDECKEN 

you  all  when  we  get  to  the  beach.  Just  follow 
B.  C.  and  hold  your  breath  for  the  shouting. ' ' 

The  boat  grounded  on  the  soft  sand  and  they 
tumbled  out,  hauled  her  up  a  few  feet  and  Hank, 
taking  a  small  lantern  he  had  brought  with  him, 
lit  it  and  placed  it  on  the  sands  close  to  the  bow. 
Then  they  started.  Europe  in  the  van,  Asia  in 
the  rear. 

The  rocks  were  soon  reached.  The  rocks  just 
here  are  easy  to  negotiate,  great  flat-topped 
masses  rising  gradually  from  the  bayside  to  a 
summit  that  falls  as  gradually  to  the  sands  of  the 
bay  beyond. 

When  they  reached  the  summit  the  blaze  of  two 
fires  on  the  beach  showed  out  close  together,  their 
light  blending  in  an  elliptical  zone,  beyond  which 
the  tents  hinted  of  themselves. 

"The  Chinks  are  round  one,  the  white  men  by 
the  other,"  said  Candon.  "Couldn't  be  better  for 
we've  got  them  divided.  Now  then,  you  two, 
follow  me  and  do  as  I  do — and  for  the  love  of 
Mike  don't  sneeze.  Got  your  guns  handy? 
That's  right." 

He  began  the  descent.  Then  when  they 
reached  the  sands  he  got  on  hands  and  knees. 

Scarcely  had  he  done  so  than  the  notes  of  a 
guitar  came  through  the  night  from  the  camp  of 
the  white  slavers  and  the  first  words  of  a  song. 
They  could  not  make  out  the  words,  but  they 
could  tell  at  once  that  the  singer  was  neither 
American  nor  English.  That  high  nasal  voice 


THE  ATTACK  119 

spoke  of  Spain  where  the  cicadas  shrill  in  the 
plane  trees  in  the  heat-shaken  air. 

" Dagoes,"  said  Hank. 

"Come  on,"  said  Candon. 

Then,  had  anyone  been  watching,  across  the 
sands  towards  the  zone  of  fire-light,  six  forms 
might  have  been  seen  crawling,  liker  to  land  crabs 
than  the  forms  of  men  or  beasts. 

The  Chinks  around  their  fire  were  broken  up 
into  parties  playing  games  and  smoking.  By  the 
white  man's  fire  sat  the  guitar  player  on  a  camp 
stool,  the  light  full  on  his  sharp  profile,  another 
man  leaning  on  his  elbow  lay  smoking  cigarettes, 
and  a  woman  seated  on  the  sand,  an  elderly- 
looking  woman  of  Jewish  type,  was  engaged  in 
some  sort  of  needlework,  and  her  hand  as  it 
moved,  seemed  covered  with  rings. 

George  thought  he  had  never  beheld  a  more 
sinister  looking  trio.  The  girl  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen. 

George,  Hank  and  Candon  put  their  heads 
together. 

"She's  in  one  of  the  tents,"  whispered  B.  C., 
"tied  up  for  the  night  most  like." 

"Shall  we  rush  them  now?"  asked  Hank. 

"Yep,  get  your  guns  ready.  Look!  There's 
the  girl !  Now  then,  boys ! ' ' 

The  girl  who  had  just  left  the  most  seaward  of 
the  tents  stood  for  a  moment  with  the  vague  light 
of  the  fire  touching  her.  She  was  very  small.  To 
George,  in  that  half  moment,  she  seemed  only  a 


120  VANDERDECKEN 

child,  and  the  sight  of  her  contrasted  with  her 
captors  came  to  them  as  though  timed  to  the 
moment. 

The  beach  blazed  out  with  noise,  the  ear- 
splitting  explosions  of  the  Luggers  and  the  yells 
of  the  attackers  swept  the  man  on  the  sands  to 
his  feet.  George  saw,  as  one  sees  in  a  dream,  the 
whole  of  the  Chinese  casting  cards  and  dice  and 
flying  like  leaves  driven  by  the  broom  of  the  wind. 
He  had  a  vision  of  Hank  downing  the  cigarette 
smoker,  then  he  got  a  smash  on  the  head  from  a 
guitar  and  was  rolling  on  the  sands  with  a  man 
who  was  shouting  "Hell,  hell,  hell!"  punching 
him  to  silence  whilst  the  woman  with  nails  in  his 
neck  was  trying  to  strangle  him,  screaming  all 
the  time  till  Hank  dragged  her  off,  crying, 
"We've  got  the  girl — come  on — come  on!  We've 
got  the  girl !"  Then  the  nightmare  shifted  and  he 
was  running,  Candon  in  front  of  him  with  some- 
thing on  his  shoulder  that  struggled  and  fought 
and  screamed  for  help,  then  he  was  stumbling 
over  rocks,  Hank  helping  him,  Hank  laughing  and 
whooping  like  a  man  in  delirium,  and  shouting  to 
the  stars:  "We've  got  the  girl!  We've  got  the 
girl!" 

Then  came  the  glow-worm  glimmer  of  the  lamp 
by  the  boat,  and  the  boat  with  them  all  crowding 
into  it,  Chinks  and  all,  and  the  musky  smell  of  the 
Chinks,  the  push  off  and  a  great  silence  broken 
only  by  the  oars  and  Candon 's  voice  crying, 


THE  ATTACK  121 

"Lord!  she's  dead!"  and  Hank's  voice,  "No,  she 
ain't,  only  fainted." 

The  Wear  Jack's  side  with  Charley  showing  a 
lantern,  the  getting  on  board  with  their  helpless 
bundle,  and  the  vanishing  of  Candon  with  her 
down  the  companion  way  to  the  saloon,  then  and 
only  then  did  things  shake  back  to  reality  whilst 
Hank  took  both  George's  hands  in  his.  "Bo, 
we've  done  it,"  said  Hank. 

' '  We  sure  have, ' '  said  George. 

Which  was  a  fact — if  they  only  had  known. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  SEA  FIGHT 

MEANWHILE  the  Chinks  with  absolute 
imperturbability  and  under  the  orders  of 
Charley,  were  getting  the  boat  on  board. 
As  it  came  on  deck  Candon  appeared. 

"She's  come  to,"  said  Candon.  "I've  stuck 
her  in  the  bunk  in  the  after  cabin,  but  she's  so 
rattled  she  won't  speak — just  lays  there.  Hurry 
up  with  the  anchor,  you  boys.  Listen ! ' ' 

From  shoreward  through  the  night  came 
sounds,  far-away  shouting  and  then  the  throb  of  a 
gong. 

"Those  guys  are  collecting  the  hatchet  men," 
cried  Hank,  "they'll  maybe  try  and  cut  us  off 
from  the  next  bay — there  was  a  boat  on  the 
sands.  Lord!  and  I've  dropped  my  Lugger." 

"I've  got  mine,"  said  George. 

"Mine's  in  the  cabin,"  said  Candon,  "get  the 
windlass  going  and  I'll  start  the  engine.  Give 
me  a  call  when  the  mud  hook's  up  and  look 
slippy."  He  dived  below  and  as  he  dived  a 
loose  bunt  of  sail  puffed  out  and  a  breeze  from 
the  nor 'west  laid  its  fingers  on  the  cheek  of 
Hank. 

122 


A  SEA  FIGHT  123 

"Wind's  coming,"  cried  Hank.  " Leave  the 
windlass,  get  to  the  halyards.  Hi !  Charley  there, 
look  alive,  man.  Your  throat  and  peak  halyards- 
Bud,  lay  forward  and  get  the  gaskets  off  the  jib." 
He  rushed  to  the  hatch  of  the  engine  room. 
"Candon,  below  there!  Wind's  coming,  I'm  get- 
ting sail  on  her,  that  damned  junk  will  lay  for  us 
sure  and  I'm  not  trusting  the  engine  any."  He 
rushed  back  to  the  wheel  and  stood  whilst  the 
mainsail,  fore  and  jib  were  got  on  her.  Then 
came  the  sound  of  the  winch  and  the  anchor  came 
home  whilst  the  slatting  canvas  filled  and  Hank 
turned  the  spokes  of  the  wheel  setting  her  on  a 
course  south  by  east. 

Candon's  head  bobbed  up  from  below. 

"I  can't  get  the  durned  thing  to  go,"  said  he. 

1  'Never  mind,"  said  Hank,  "the  wind's  fresh- 
ening. ' ' 

As  he  spoke  it  breezed  up  strong,  the  main- 
sheet  tautened  and  the  boom  lifted  as  the  sails 
bellied  hard  against  the  stars  and  the  Wear  Jack 
leaned  over  to  it,  boosting  the  ebony  water  to 
snow. 

Candon  took  the  wheel  from  Hank. 

"It's  bad  luck  we  have  to  run  right  past  them," 
said  he  as  the  next  bay  opened,  showing  the  junk 
lit  up  as  if  for  a  festival  and  the  fires  on  the  beach. 

"They'll  have  had  time  to  collect  their  wits 
and  man  the  junk  and  they'll  know  it's  not  the 
police. ' ' 


124  VANDERDECKEN 

"Oh,  we've  got  the  heels  of  them,"  said  Hank. 

"Hope  so,"  said  the  other.  "Look!  they're 
getting  sail  on  her." 

In  the  dim  light  the  vast  lug  sail  of  the  junk 
could  be  seen  rising  and  even  before  it  fully  took 
the  wind,  she  was  moving. 

"They're  rowing!"  cried  George.  "Look! 
they've  got  the  sweeps  out!" 

Candon  looked.  The  fag  end  of  a  moon  rising 
over  the  hills  of  California  showed  now  clearly 
the  junk  putting  out  to  sea  ahead  of  them,  the 
flash  and  movement  of  the  sweeps,  the  great  lub- 
berly lateen  sail  being  trimmed  and  the  foam 
dashing  from  the  bow. 

"They've  got  us,"  said  Hank,  "get  your  guns 
ready  if  it  comes  to  boarding.  Where's  yours, 
B.  C.?"  "Down  in  the  cabin? — one  sec."  He 
dived  below.  Then  he  came  up  again.  "Cabin 
door's  bolted." 

"Whach  you  say!"  cried  Candon. 

"Cabin  door's  bolted,  can't  get  in — " 

"Maybe  it's  stuck,"  said  Candon.  "Don't 
bother  with  it,  we've  no  time  for  fiddling,  lay  hold 
of  something  to  bat  these  chaps  with  if  they  try 
and  board.  Hell!  biit  she's  racing, — that  junk." 

She  was.  Urged  by  wind  and  oars,  making 
ahead  to  hit  the  course  of  the  Wear  Jack  at  an 
acute  angle,  she  seemed  bound  to  do  it. 

"What's  her  game?"  asked  George. 

"Foul  us,  get  broadside  on  and  board  us," 
replied  Candon. 


A  SEA  FIGHT  125 

"How'd  it  be  to  put  her  about  and  get  her  on 
a  wind!"  asked  Hank. 

1 '  No  use,  going  about  would  give  her  lengths — 
those  junks  shoot  up  into  the  wind  like  all  pos- 
sessed and  the  sweeps  help — Leave  her  to  me." 

The  Wear  Jack  kept  on. 

Racing  now  almost  parallel — the  junk  ahead 
with  sweeps  drawn  in,  the  two  boats  held  only 
half  a  cable  length  apart.  They  could  see  the 
junk's  deck  swarming,  the  hatchet  men,  now  that 
they  had  got  their  courage  were  voicing  it,  and 
yells  like  the  strident  sound  of  tearing  calico 
came  mixed  with  the  wash  of  the  waves  and  the 
beating  of  a  gong.  Closer  they  got,  still  closer, 
the  Wear  Jack  gaining v  under  a  strengthening 
flaw  of  the  wind.  Then,  with  a  shout  and  with  a 
lightning  movement,  Candon,  to  the  horror  of  the 
others,  put  his  helm  hard  over.  The  Wear  Jack 
checked,  shied  just  like  a  horse,  and  with  a  thun- 
der of  slatting  canvas,  and  rattling  blocks, 
plunged  at  the  junk,  ramming  her  abaft  the 
chunky  mast.  The  fellow  at  the  steering  sweep 
shifted  his  helm  to  get  clear,  the  junk  forged 
to  starboard  and  the  bowsprit  of  the  Wear  Jack, 
like  a  clutching  hand,  snapped  stay  after  stay 
bringing  the  great  sail  down  like  a  Venetian  blind 
over  the  crowd  on  deck. 

"We're  free,"  shouted  Candon,  "bowsprit's 
half  gone.  No  matter,  get  forward,  Hank,  and 
clear  the  raffle!" 

Then  as  the  Wear  Jack  forged  ahead,  the  Kiro 


126  VANDERDECKEN 

Shiwo  drifting  her  faster  than  the  junk,  the  wind 
took  her  sails. 

''They  aren't  sinking,  are  they?"  cried  George. 

''Sinking — nothing,"  replied  B.  C.,  turning  his 
head.  "They'll  get  back  ashore  with  their  sweeps. 
If  they  were,  it'd  be  a  good  job.  What's  the 
damage,  Hank?" 

"Bob  stay  gone,"  came  Hank's  voice.  "Bow- 
sprit seems  all  right — Lord,  it's  a  miracle." 

Then  he  came  aft  having  set  Charley  and  the 
Chinks  on  repairs. 

"B.  C.,"  said  Hank,  "you're  a  marvel.  What 
put  it  into  your  nut  to  do  itf" 

"It  came  to  me,"  said  the  other,  "they'd  have 
done  it  to  us  in  another  tick,  got  fast  and  downed 
us.  Hit  first — that's  my  motto." 

"Well,"  said  Hank,  "you've  done  it." 

Away  back  in  the  moonlight  across  the  heave 
of  the  sea,  they  could  make  out  the  dismasted 
wreck  floundering  like  a  drunken  thing,  listing  to 
starboard  with  the  weight  of  her  broken  wing, 
gastados,  out  of  the  running — done  for. 


DOWN  BELOW 

GEORGE  and  Hank  went  forward  to  super- 
intend the  work  of  the  Chinks  on  the 
bowsprit;  Candon,  at  the  wheel  and  well 
content  with  the  work  of  the  night,  felt  thirsty. 
There  was  no  one  to  fetch  him  a  drink,  tea  was 
what  he  fancied  and  thinking  of  tea  made  him 
think  of  the  tea  things  which  were  in  the  cabin. 
Then  he  remembered  what  Hank  had  said  about 
the  cabin  door  being  closed. 

It  occurred  to  him  now  that  the  girl  had  bolted 
the  door.  No  doubt  the  poor  creature  was  half 
crazy  with  fright.  It  had  not  occurred  before  to 
the  ingenuous  and  benevolent  B.  C.  that  the  girl 
must  look  on  her  new  captors  as  more  terrible 
than  even  the  white  slavers.  The  yelling  and  the 
shooting,  the  stampeding  of  the  camp,  the  way 
she  had  been  seized,  caught  up  and  carried  off — 
why,  what  must  she  think  of  them!  Up  to  this 
he  had  been  too  busy  to  think  himself.  It  was 
only  now,  as  Hank  would  have  said,  that  the  thing 
suddenly  hit  him  on  the  head  like  an  orange. 

"Hank!"  shouted  B.  C. 

"Coming,"  replied  Hank.    He  came  aft. 

127 


128  VANDERDECKEN 

"I'm  thinking  of  the  girl  down  below,  it's  she 
that's  most  likely  fastened  the  door,  she's  most 
likely  scared  out  of  her  life  the  way  we've  took 
her  off  and  not  knowing  who  we  are." 

"Sure,"  said  Hank. 

"She  nearly  tore  my  head  off  as  I  was  carrying 
her — I  remember  getting  a  cat  out  of  a  trap 
once,  it  acted  just  the  same — scared— 

"Listen,"  said  Hank,  who  was  standing  close 
to  the  cabin  skylight. 

The  skylight  was  a  bit  open  and  fastened  from 
inside;  through  the  opening  came  sounds  as  of 
someone  moving  about. 

"She's  moving,"  said  B.  C.  "She's  got  over 
her  fright.  Down  with  you,  Hank,  and  get  her 
story,  tell  her  I'll  be  down  when  George  comes 
aft,  tell  her  she's  as  safe  with  us  as  she'd  be  with 
her  gran 'mother." 

Hank  descended. 

Candon  heard  him  knock — then  his  voice. 

"Halloo  there." 

Silence. 

"Halloo  there." 

Then  came  a  determined  little  voice. 

"Clear  off— I've  got  a  pistol—" 

Candon,  listening,  remembered  the  Lugger 
pistol  he  had  left  on  the  cabin  table. 

Then  Hank's  voice. 

"Don't  be  scared,  com'n'  open  the  door,  don't 
be  soared." 


DOWN  BELOW  129 

The  voice:  "I'm  not  a  person  to  be  scared — 
you  ought  to  know  that." 

Down  below  the  perplexed  Hank,  standing 
before  the  closed  door,  was  at  pause  for  a  mo- 
ment. Why  ought  he  to  have  known  that!  Was 
she  mad  after  all! 

"Well,  open  the  door  anyhow,"  said  he. 
"Don't  you  know  we're  your  friends.  Good 
Lord,  don't  you  know  what  we've  risked  getting 
you  away  from  that  lot?  Come  on — all  the  food 
and  stuff's  in  the  lockers  and  lazarette  and  we're 
clean  perishing  for  something  to  eat." 

"That's  good,"  said  the  voice,  "you'll  have  to 
perish  till  morning,  then  we'll  talk.  Now  go 
away,  please." 

"Whach  you  say?" 

"Scatter." 

A  long  pause.  Then  Hank's  voice,  angry.  "I 
tell  you  what — I  wish  to  the  Lord  we'd  left  you 
there." 

And  the  voice:  "You'll  be  wishing  it  more 
when  you're  in  the  penitentiary." 

Then  Candon  could  almost  hear  the  perplexed 
Hank  scratching  his  head.  A  long  pause.  Then 
Hank: 

"But  for  the  Lord's  sake,  you  don't  think  we 
want  to  do  you  any  harm? " 

The  voice :  *  *  Then  what  did  you  want  to  do  f  " 

Hank:   "Get  you  away  from  that  lot." 

The  voice:   "What  for?" 

Hank:    "What   for — why   to   save   you   from 


130  VANDERDECKEN 

them — to  save  you  body  and  soul — didn't  you 
know  they  were  taking  you  to  perdition, — clean 
perdition. ' ' 

Then  the  voice,  after  a  moment's  pause:  "I 
don't  know  whether  you're  toughs  or  religious 
cranks.  It  doesn't  matter.  Anyhow  this  door 
doesn't  open  s'long  as  it's  dark.  Now  clear, 
come  again  in  the  morning  and,  if  you  take  my 
advice,  steer  straight  for  Santa  Barbara.  If  you 
put  me  ashore  safe  by  morning  maybe  I'll  try 
and  help  you  with  the  police,  but  I  don't  promise 
— now  clear." 

Hank  cleared. 

On  deck  he  found  George  who  had  come  aft. 
" She's  gone  bughouse,"  said  Hank,  "or  else  she 
was  one  of  them,  helping  in  the  contraband." 

He  recounted  the  dialogue.  "She's  got  that 
Lugger  pistol  and  seems  to  me,  boys,  she's  got  the 
game.  It's  worse  than  Pittsburg.  Called  me  a 
religious  crank.  Anyhow  she's  got  us,  got  the 
grub  under  her  thumb  unless  we  make  out  with 
the  rice  and  truck  the  Chinks  feed  on." 

"I  can't  make  it  out,"  said  George.  "I'd 
have  sworn  by  the  look  we  got  at  her,  through 
the  glass,  that  she  was  a  prisoner  with  those 
scamps.  D'y'  remember  the  way  she  carried  on, 
went  and  threw  herself  down  on  the  ground  with 
her  face  hidden  in  her  arm?" 

"Seems  to  me,"  said  Hank,  "we've  been  read- 
ing into  the  situation  more  than  was  in  it.  She 
was  no  prisoner.  She  was  one  of  them — daughter 


DOWN  BELOW  131 

most  likely  of  that  Jew  woman  I  hauled  off  you — 
well,  I  wish  we'd  left  her  alone — and  to  think  of 
the  size  of  her  sitting  up  and  crowing  like  that. ' ' 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,"  said  George,  "it's  the  day 
of  the  flapper.  She  most  likely  was  running  that 
show.  It's  part  of  the  new  world — the  millen- 
nium that  was  to  come  after  the  war!" 

Candon  alone  said  nothing.  The  thing  had  hit 
him  even  harder  than  Hank.  The  knight  errant 
in  him  was  flattened  out,  at  least  for  the  moment. 
He  remembered  the  cat  he  had  released  from  the 
trap  and  how  it  had  clawed  him — but  it  had  taken 
milk  from  his  hand  immediately  after  and  become 
his  friend,  whereas  this  creature — !  Then  it 
came  to  him  out  of  his  own  mind — for  Hank's 
words  had  produced  little  effect  on  him — that  the 
truth  was  he  had  released  her  from  no  trap. 
She  was  part  and  parcel  with  those  scoundrels,  a 
vicious  girl  made  vicious  no  doubt  from  bad 
association.  This  conviction  suddenly  coming  to 
his  mind  produced  an  uplift. 

"Boys,"  said  B.  C.  suddenly,  "we'll  tame  her. 
There's  something  moving  in  this  more  than  we 
can  see.  Anyhow,  we've  got  her  away  from 
those  ginks  to  start  with. ' ' 

"That's  true,"  said  Hank,  his  mind  taking 
suddenly  the  colour  of  Candon 's.  But  George 
was  of  rougher  stuff  than  these  idealists.  He 
went  to  the  skylight  and  cautiously  tried  to  peep, 
but  could  see  nothing,  then  he  listened  but  could 
hear  nothing.  He  came  back  to  the  others. 


132  VANDERDECKEN 

"She's  lying  down,  most  likely,  can't  see  her 
or  hear  her — it's  all  very  well  talking  of  taming 
—what  do  you  think  this  show  is?  I  didn't  start 
ont  to  tame  girls,  don't  know  how  to  begin,  either, 
—I  know,  it's  as  much  my  fault  as  yours— we 
shouldn't  have  mixed  up  in  the  business — and  I 
tell  you  we  are  in  a  tight  place.  That  crowd  will 
swear  anything  against  us  and  she'll  back  them. 
She  talked  of  the  police.  That's  just  so,  all  these 
white  slavers  and  dope  sellers  and  contrabanders 
are  hand  in  glove  with  the  police.  They  couldn't 
do  their  business  else;  we  should  have  left  them 

alone. " 

"Now  that's  clean  wrong,"  said  Hank. 
"Doesn't  matter  a  rap  if  the  girl's  a  tough,  we 
saved  her,  anyhow.  We  did  the  right  thing  and 
she  can't  make  it  wrong  by  being  wrong  herself." 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  Candon. 

4 '  Maybe, ' '  replied  George.  ' '  All  the  same  she 's 
done  us  out  of  our  bunks,  and  what  are  you  going 
to  do  with  her,  anyway?  Here  you  are  tied  up 
with  a  girl,  you've  taken  her  from  her  mother,  if 
that  old  Jew  woman  was  her  mother,  ripped  her 
clean  out  of  her  environment,  she's  on  our  hands. 
If  she  doesn't  go  back  to  that  lot,  what  are  we  to 
do  with  her?" 

Hank  got  peppery.  "Why  in  the  nation  didn't 
you  think  of  that  before  we  took  her,"  asked  he. 

"Why  you  know  well  enough,"  answered  the 
other,  "we  thought  that  lot  had  stolen  her  away 
from  her  people,  naturally  I  thought  we'd  put 


DOWN  BELOW  133 

her  back  again  with  her  people,  whereas,  now, 
look  where  we  are.  Suppose  even  we  do  tame 
her,  as  you  call  it,  and  she  goes  straight,  who's 
to  feed  her  and  keep  her?" 

"Why,  Bud,"  said  Hank,  "we'll  manage  some- 
how. Look  at  you  with  all  your  dollars,  what 
better  use  could  you  make  of  a  few  of  them,  and 
we '11  help." 

"Yes,  we'll  help,"  said  Candon,  forgetting  the 
fact  that  he  was  due  for  either  the  penitentiary 
or  hoofing  it  to  Callao  from  the  Bay  of  Whales. 
"We'll  help  and  the  three  of  us  will  make  out 
somehow." 

The  millionaire  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  He 
was  about  to  fly  out  at  the  cool  way  these  bene- 
factors of  humanity  were  disposing  of  his  credit 
and  coin.  Then  he  calmed  down  and  said  nothing 
and  went  forward  to  get  some  of  the  "rice  and 
truck  the  Chinks  feed  on"  for  his  companions, 
also  a  beaker  of  water. 

The  weather  was  warm,  so  warm  that  sleeping 
on  deck  was  no  penance  and  Charley  being  called 
to  the  wheel  the  Wear  Jack  and  her  strange  cargo 
snored  on  south — ever  south — under  the  night  of 
stars. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

TOMMIE 

HANK  and  Candon  were  asleep,  whilst 
George  stood  as  officer  of  the  watch.  A 
great  blaze  of  light  fanning  up  beyond 
the  coast  hills  showed  the  Wear  Jack  under  all 
plain  sail  and  the  gulls  following  her,  royal  terns 
and  loons  and  black-headed  gulls,  whilst  far 
above  a  Brandt's  cormorant  formed  an  escort  in 
the  blue,  wheeling,  dropping  as  though  to  pierce 
the  deck,  and  then  passing  off  with  a  cry,  north- 
ward, towards  the  vanished  islands. 

Away  over  there  to  the  east,  fog  held  the  lower 
hills  and  made  a  country  of  rolling  snow  to  the 
sea  edge,  a  country  now  white,  now  golden  as  the 
great  sun  rose  above  it,  now  breaking  here  and 
there,  and  now  flying  before  the  wind  like  the 
banners  of  a  shattered  army. 

At  eight  o'clock,  when  they  had  breakfasted 
somehow  out  of  materials  supplied  by  Charley, 
Hank  suddenly  took  the  wheel  of  affairs. 

Not  a  sound  had  broken  the  ominous  silence 
down  below  and  up  to  now  the  barred-out  men 
had  not  spoken  a  word  on  the  matter. 

134 


TOMMIE  135 

"It's  lucky  for  us  we  have  a  crew  of  Chinks," 
said  Hank  suddenly  and  apropos  of  nothing,  "the 
Chinks  don't  know  and  if  they  did  they  wouldn't 
care.  If  we  took  our  breakfast  standing  on  our 
heads  it  would  be  all  the  same  to  them.  Well,  see 
here,  you  fellows,  what  we  going  to  do?  We 
have  to  get  done  with  this  business  right  now. 
I've  got  a  stiff  back  sleeping  in  the  scuppers  and 
I  don't  propose  to  feed  for  the  rest  of  my  natural 
on  this  Chow  junk.  Seeing  I  did  the  talking  last 
night,  I  propose  going  down  to  prospect  and  have 
a  parley." 

"Right!"  said  the  other  two  with  a  sudden 
brightening,  as  though  a  burden  had  been  lifted 
from  them. 

"If  she  won't  open,"  said  Hank,  as  he  got  on 
his  long  legs,  "I'll  bust  that  door  in.  You  keep 
your  ears  skinned  at  the  hatch  and  come  along 
down  if  there's  trouble." 

They  moved  up  close  to  the  hatch  and  Hank 
went  down.  They  heard  his  knock  and  almost 
immediately  on  the  knock  a  clear  voice  say: 
"Yes?" 

Then  Hank:  "It's  come  day  now,  will  you 
open?  I  want  to  have  a  word  with  you." 

The  voice:  "Yes.  I  will  open,  on  one  condi- 
tion, that  after  I  have  drawn  the  bolts  you  will 
wait  till  I  give  the  word  before  you  come  in." 

"Right," 

"If  you  don't,  I'll  shoot." 

"Right." 


136  VANDERDECKEN 

They  heard  the  bolts  being  drawn.  Then,  after 
a  moment,  giving  her  time  to  get  to  the  other  end 
of  the  cabin,  they  heard  her  cry,  * '  Come  in. ' ' 

Then  her  voice:   "Well?" 

Silence. 

The  voice :  ' '  Well — what  on  earth  is  the  matter 
with  you?  Can't  you  speak?" 

Hank:  "I'm  clean  knocked  out.  Suffering 
Moses!" 

The  voice:  "I  don't  want  to  know  anything 
about  Moses  and  his  sufferings,  I  just  want  to 
know  who  you  are,  the  name  of  this  ship,  and 
what  you  mean.  Don't  come  nearer!" 

Hank :  ' '  I  'm  not — Can 't  you  see  I  'm  hit  ?  This 
has  been  a  mistake." 

The  voice:  "I  should  think  so." 

Hank:  "Now  I  see  you  in  the  light  of  clay,  the 
whole  thing  has  jumped  together  in  my  head — 
Lord!  what  a  mistake." 

The  voice:  "Well?" 

"Hank:  "I'll  get  on  deck  for  a  moment  if  you 
dont  mind.  I'm  hit." 

The  voice:  "So  you  have  said.  Well,  get  on 
deck  and  recover  yourself  and  be  quick  about  it — 
if  it's  a  mistake  you've  got  to  mend  it  and  get  me 
back — go  on." 

Hank  came  on  deck,  he  beckoned  to  the  others 
and  led  them  forward. 

"Boys." 

"Goon!" 

"Boys,  it's  Tommie  Coulthurst." 


TOMMIE  137 

The  awful  silence  that  followed  this  crushing 
announcement  lasted  for  full  twenty  seconds,  a 
silence  broken  only  by  the  slash  of  the  bow  wash, 
the  creak  of  a  block  and  the  cry  of  the  gulls. 

Then  George  said:  "Oh,  Lord!" 

"You  ain't  mistaken?"  asked  Candon  feebly. 
Hank  did  not  even  reply. 

"But  we've  busted  their  ship,"  said  George,  as 
if  protesting  against  the  enormity  of  the  idea  that 
had  just  put  itself  together  in  his  brain,  "and  I 
nearly  did  for  that  gink  with  the  guitar." 

"I  know,"  said  Hank,  "and  I  downed  that  other 
chap  and  hauled  that  Jew  woman  off  you  by  the 
left  leg — well,  there  we  are.  What's  wrong  with 
this  cruise  anyhow?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  George.  "My  head's  turned 
inside  out.  Down  with  you,  Hank,  and  get  her 
up — get  her  up,  we've  gotta  try  and  explain. 
Down  with  you." 

Hank  started  aft  on  a  run  and  vanished.  A 
minute  later  a  deck  chair  appeared  at  the  hatch, 
followed  by  Hank.  After  Hank  came  a  little  hand 
holding  a  Lugger  pistol,  and  then  the  head  and 
body  of  Tomruie  Coulthurst. 

She  looked  smaller  even  than  by  the  firelight, 
small  but  so  exquisitely  proportioned  that  you 
did  not  bother  about  her  size.  She  had  no  hat, 
her  steadfast  seaweed  brown  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  men  before  her  and  the  strange  and 
extraordinary  thing  was  that  her  face  as  she 
gazed  at  them  brought  them  comfort  of  a  kind. 


138  VANDERDECKEN 

For  Tommie's  face,  though  small  enough,  had 
nothing  small  in  it.  It  was  good  to  look  upon  as 
Truth  and  Honesty  and  Courage  could  make  it 
and  Beauty  had  lent  a  hand. 

Hank  put  out  the  chair. 

"Will  you  sit  down,"  said  Hank. 

Before  sitting  down  she  took  a  glance  round  at 
the  deck  and  the  Chink  at  the  wheel.  Then  as 
though  the  pistol  were  bothering  her,  she  threw  it 
into  the  scupper.  She  seemed  to  have  read  every- 
thing in  the  situation  and  found  no  danger. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "what  on  earth  is  it  all?" 

"It's  a  mistake,"  said  Hank. 

'  *  So  you  have  told  me — but  seems  to  me  we  are 
getting  further  from  Santa  Barbara,  we  are  going 
down  the  coast,  aren't  we?" 

"We  are,"  said  George,  "and  I'll  put  the  ship 
about  right  away  if  you  like — only  I'd  ask  you  to 
listen  to  us  first  and  a  few  miles  more  or  less  don't 
matter. ' ' 

"Go  on,"  said  Tommie. 

George,  who  had  recovered  his  wits  sooner 
than  the  others,  had  seized  on  an  idea.  Maybe 
it  was  Tommie 's  face  that  inspired  it. 

"The  whole  of  this  business  is  a  most  awful 
mix-up,"  he  began.  "First  I'd  better  tell  you  who 
we  are.  My  name's  Du  Cane.  George  Harley  du 
Cane.  This  is  Mr.  Hank  Fisher,  and  this  is  Mr. 
Candon.  I  don't  know  if  you  have  read  in  the 
papers  of  a  yacht  putting  out  from  San  Francisco 


TOMMIE  139 

to  catch  Vanderdecken,  the  man  who  has  been 
raiding  yachts  f ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Tommie,  "I  know  about  it." 

"Well,  this  is  the  yacht.  We  got  along  down  to 
San  Nicolas  and  going  ashore  we  saw  a  Chinese 
camp.  We  spotted  you  through  a  glass  and  came 
to  the  conclusion  you  were  in  the  hands  of  Chinese 
white  slavers.  We  made  up  our  minds  to  rescue 
you." 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Tommie,  sitting  forward  in 
her  chair  with  wide  pupils. 

"And  seems  to  me  we  did  it,"  said  George. 
"Can  you  imagine  anything  more  horrible?" 

Tommie 's  mouth  was  open,  relaxed,  yet  in  a 
way  rigid.  She  seemed  in  the  grip  of  petrified 
laughter. 

"Not  only  that,"  went  on  George,  "but  we 
knocked  the  mast  out  of  that  junk.  She  chased 
us  and  we  rammed  her.  What  was  she?  Part  of 
your  show?" 

Tommie 's  mouth  had  suddenly  closed  itself, 
laughter  had  vanished  and  her  eyes  shone. 

"Yes,  part  of  our  show." 

"And  those  were  real  Chinks — hatchet  men?" 

"Yep — we  always  work  with  real  stuff." 

"We  ought  to  have  recognized  you,"  went  on 
George,  "we've  seen  you  often  enough  in  the 
pictures  and  the  press,  but  the  distance  was  too 
big,  besides  looking  from  a  distance  you  gave  us 
the  impression — we  saw  you  throw  yourself 
down." 


140  VANDERDECKEN 

"I  was  showing  Mr.  Althusen  a  pose,"  said 
Tommie. 
"Altinuenf" 

"The  producer." 

"Was  that  the  man  playing  the  guitar  by  the 
fire?" 

"Yep."    Her  eyes  still  blazed  strangely.    Hank 
thought  she  was  going  to  fly  out  at  them. 

"He  smashed  his  guitar  on  me,"  said  George. 
"It's  awful." 

"I  think  it's  splendid!"  said  Tommie. 


CHAPTEE  XXH 

A  PBOBLEM  IN  PSYCHOLOGY 

IF  the  deck  had  opened  delivering  up  Mr. 
Althusen  and  his  broken  guitar  the  three  men 
could  not  have  been  more  astonished. 

"I  think  it's  splendid,"  she  said  again.  "You 
saw  everything  all  wrong,  but  how  could  you  know. 
I  think  it's  just  fine.  Those  hatchet  men  were  a 
tough  crowd  and  they'd  have  killed  you  for  sure 
only  you  scattered  them  like  you  did.  You  saw  a 
girl  being  kidnapped  as  you  thought  and  you  just 
dashed  in.  Nobody  but  white  Americans  would 
have  acted  like  that. ' ' 

"Oh,  anyone  would,"  murmured  Hank. 

"No  they  wouldn't — they'd  gone  off  for  the 
police  or  said,  'Oh,  my,  how  shocking,'  and  gone 
off  about  their  business.  You  struck.  Well,  I'm 
sorry  for  locking  you  out,  but  I'm  like  yourselves, 
I  didn't  know." 

"Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  George. 

Tommie's  eyes  were  fixed  on  Candon. 

'  *  It  was  you  collared  me, ' '  said  she  to  him. 

The  blue  eyes  of  Candon  met  the  liquid  brown 
eyes  of  Tommie. 

141 


142  VANDERDECKEN 

He  nodded  his  head. 

Tommie  considered  him  for  a  moment  atten- 
tively, as  though  he  were  an  object  of  curiosity  or 
a  view — anything  but  a  living  male  being.  It  was 
sometimes  a  most  disconcerting  thing  about  her, 
this  detachment  from  all  trammels  of  sex  and 
convention,  the  detachment  of  a  child.  She 
seemed  making  up  her  mind  whether  she  liked 
him  or  not  and  doing  it  quite  openly,  and  her  mind 
seemed  still  not  quite  made  up  when,  with  a  sigh, 
she  came  to. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "and  now  about  getting 
back." 

"That's  the  question  now,"  said  George 
hurriedly  and  with  his  lips  suddenly  gone  dry  so 
that  he  had  to  moisten  them.  "We've  got  to  get 
you  back." 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  said  Hank,  unenthusiasti- 
cally. "We've  got  to  do  it  somehow  or  'nother." 

"Look  here,"  said  George,  suddenly  taking  his 
courage  in  both  hands.  "I  don't  mind  the  row 
we're  sure  to  get  into,  it's  the  guying  that  gets  me. 
Think  of  the  papers.  When  we  started  out  on  this 
fool  business  we  got  it  pretty  hot — and  now  this 
on  top  of  everything. ' ' 

"I  know,"  said  Tommie.  She  was  sitting  for- 
ward in  her  chair,  clasping  her  knees,  biting  her 
lip  in  thought  and  staring  at  the  deck  planking. 
She  saw  the  position  of  the  unfortunates  as 
clearly  as  they  did.  The  fact  that  these  men  had 
done  for  her  a  fine  and  chivalrous  action  which 


A  PROBLEM  IN  PSYCHOLOGY  143 

was  still  absurd  hit  her  in  an  extraordinary  way. 
Her  sturdy  and  honest  little  soul  revolted  at  the 
thought  of  what  the  press  would  make  of  the 
business.  She  could  hear  the  laughter  only  wait- 
ing to  be  touched  off,  she  could  read  the  scare 
head-lines.  She  knew,  for  publicity  was  part  of 
her  life. 

The  stage  was  already  prepared  for  the  farce : 
by  now  every  paper  in  America  would  be  setting 
up  the  story  of  how  Tommie  Coulthurst  had 
been  abducted.  It  only  waited  for  these  men  to 
be  dragged  on  as  the  abductors  amidst  a  roar  of 
laughter  that  would  sound  right  round  the  world. 

She  had  read  in  the  Los  Angeles  papers  the 
humorous  comments  on  them  and  their  expedition 
and  now,  this ! 

No,  it  must  not  be. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  back  at  the  scene  of 
the  night  before,  finer  than  any  scene  in  a  cinema 
play,  real,  dramatic,  heroic,  yet  seemingly  based 
on  absurdity — was  it  absurdity!  Not  a  bit — not 
unless  the  finer  promptings  of  humanity  were 
absurd  and  courage  and  daring  ridiculous.  They 
had  risked  a  lot,  these  men,  and  she  had  never  in 
her  life  before  seen  men  in  action.  Ridicule  of 
them  would  hit  every  fibre  of  her  being.  No,  it 
must  not  be.  Question  was  how  to  save  them. 

''Say,"  said  Tommie,  suddenly  clasping  her 
knees  tighter  and  looking  up,  "we're  in  a  tough 
tangle,  aren't  we?" 

The  others  seemed  to  agree.    "Sam  Brown," 


144  VANDERDECKEN 

went  on  Tommie,  "he's  one  of  the  electric  men  at 
the  Wallack  Studios,  caught  a  rat  an'  put  it  in 
a  flower  pot  with  a  slate  on  top  and  a  weight  on 
the  slate  and  left  it  till  next  morning;  he  keeps 
dogs,  an'  came  to  find  it  and  it  was  gone,  said  it 
must  have  got  out  and  put  the  slate  back,  and 
Wallack  told  us  to  remember  that  rat  if  we  were 
ever  cornered  by  difficulties  in  our  work  an'  take 
as  our  motto,  'Never  say  die  till  you're  dead.' 
Well,  we're  in  a  tight  place  but  we  aren't  dead. 
Question  is  what's  the  first  thing  to  do?" 

"The  first  thing,"  said  Hank,  "why,  it's  to  get 
you  back  safe." 

"I'm  safe  enough,"  said  Tommie.  "It's  not  a 
question  of  safety  s'  much  as  smothering  this 
thing.  S'pose  we  put  back  now  to  Santa  Barbara, 
where 'd  you  be?  No,  the  first  thing  is  to  get  you 
time.  I  reckon  that  rat  would  have  been  eaten  if 
he  hadn't  had  time  to  think  his  way  out  or  if 
someone  hadn't  foozled  along  and  loosed  him. 
What's  your  plans?  You  said  you  were  out  after 
Vanderdecken,  where 'd  you  expect  to  catch  him?" 

Hank  looked  at  Candon  and  noticed  that  he  had 
turned  away. 

"Well,  it's  not  him  we  are  after  now  so  much 
as  his  boodle,"  said  Hank.  "WTe  know  where  it's 
hid  and  we  want  to  get  it." 

"Where's  it  hid?" 

"Place  called  the  Bay  of  Whales  down  below 
Cape  St.  Lucas." 


A  PROBLEM   IX   PSYCHOLOGY  145 

"How  long  will  it  take  you  to  fetch  there  and 
back?" 

"About  a  fortnight,  maybe." 

Tommie  considered  for  a  moment. 

"Well,"  she  said  at  last,  "seems  to  me  that  the 
only  thing  to  do  is  to  go  on  till  we  meet  some  ship 
that'll  take  me  back.  When  I  get  back  I'll  have 
to  do  a  lot  of  lying,  that's  all.  Ten  to  one  they'll 
put  this  business  down  to  Vanderdecken  and 
maybe  I'll  say  Vanderdecken  took  me  and  you 
collared  me  back  from  him — how'd  that  be?" 

Candon  turned.  He  struck  his  right  fist  into 
his  open  left  palm.  "There's  more'n  this  than 
I  can  get  the  lie  of,"  said  B.  C.  as  if  to  himself. 

"What  you  say?"  asked  Tommie. 

"Oh,  he  means  it's  a  mix-up,"  said  George. 
"But  see  here — we  can't  do  it." 

"Which?" 

"We  can't  put  more  on  you  than  we've  done 
already.  I  know,  I  was  mean  enough  to  want 
you  to  go  on  with  us  when  I  started  that  talk 
about  our  being  guyed — it's  different  now." 

"Yep,"  said  Hank. 

"Sure,"  said  Candon. 

"Have  you  done?"  asked  Tommie.  "Well 
then  I'm  going  on,  where 's  the  damage?  I'm  used 
to  the  rough  and  the  open.  That  film  we  were 
working  on  is  finished  and  I  guess  a  few  days' 
holiday  won't  do  me  any  harm.  B 'sides  it  works 
up  the  publicity.  Why,  every  day  I'm  away  is 
worth  a  thousand  dollars  to  Wallacks,  leaving 


146  VANDERDECKEN 

myself  alone.  They'll  book  that  film  in  Timbuc- 
too.  Do  you  see?  It's  no  trouble  to  me,  why 
should  you  worry?  Now  I  propose  we  get  some- 
thing to  eat." 

"But  how  about  clothes,"  asked  George. 

"Which,  mine?  Oh,  I  reckon  I'll  manage 
somehow.  The  thing  that  gets  me  is  a  tooth- 
brush. ' ' 

"Thank  God,"  said  George. 

"Which?" 

"I've  got  four  new  ones,"  said  the  millionaire. 


CHAPTER  XXIH 

THE  NEW  CHUM 

THE  extraordinary  thing  about  Miss  Coult- 
hurst  was  the  absence  and  yet  the  presence 
of  the  feminine  in  her.  Possessed  of  all 
the  electrical  properties  of  a  woman  and  the 
chummable  properties  of  a  man,  this  dangerous 
individual  presiding  at  the  breakfast  table  of  the 
Wear  Jack  and  dispensing  tea  to  her  captors 
created  an  atmosphere  in  which  even  the  fried 
eggs  seemed  part  of  romantic  adventure. 

The  sordid  had  dropped  out  of  everything, 
fear  of  consequences  had  vanished  for  the  mo- 
ment, the  shifting  sunlight  on  the  Venesta  panel- 
ings,  the  glitter  of  the  Tyrebuck  tea  things,  the 
warm  sea-scented  air  blowing  through  the  sky- 
light,— everything  bright  and  pleasant  seemed  to 
the  hypnotised  ones  part  of  Tommie. 

There  was  no  making  conversation  at  that 
breakfast  party.  Shut  up  all  night  with  no  one 
to  talk  to,  she  did  the  talking,  explaining  first  of 
all  and  staging  for  their  consideration  the  people 
they  had  attacked  the  night  before.  Althusen  was 
the  biggest  producer  in  Los  Angeles — that  is  to 

147 


148  VANDERDECKEN 

say  the  world,  and  Moscovitch,  the  camera  man, 
was  on  all  fours  with  him,  Mrs.  Raphael  was 
Julia  Raphael,  the  actress,  and  the  play  was 
4 'The  Chink  and  the  Girl."  The  hatchet  men 
were  real  kai-gingh  and  Tommie  was  the  girl  they 
were  making  off  with,  and  the  scene  on  San 
Nicolas  was  not  the  end  of  the  play  but  some- 
where in  the  middle,  for  pictures  are  produced 
in  sections  labelled  and  numbered  and  sometimes 
the  end  sections  are  produced  first. 

Tommie  had  been  born  on  a  ranch.  She  was 
quite  free  with  her  private  history.  Her  father 
was  Ben  Coulthurst — maybe  they'd  heard  of 
him.  Well,  anyway,  he  was  well-known  in  Texas 
*till  he  went  broke  and  died  and  left  Tommie  to  the 
care  of  an  aunt  who  lived  in  San  Francisco  where 
Tommie  was  half  smothered — she  couldn't  stand 
cities — and  maybe  would  have  died  if  the  movie 
business  hadn't  come  along  and  saved  her.  Fresh 
air  stunts,  as  they  knew,  were  her  vocation,  and 
she  guessed  she  wras  made  of  india  rubber,  seeing 
up  to  this  she  had  only  broken  one  collarbone. 
Her  last  experience  was  dropping  from  an  aero- 
plane on  to  the  top  of  a  sixty-mile-an-hour 
express. 

"I've  seen  you  do  that,"  said  Hank.  "Made 
me  sweat  in  the  palms  of  my  hands. ' ' 

Well,  that  was  nothing;  plane  and  express 
moving  at  the  same  speed  it  was  as  simple  as 
stepping  off  the  sidewalk;  being  thrown  out  of  a 
window  was  a  lot  worse.  She  thanked  her  Maker 


THE  NEW  CHUM  149 

she  was  born  so  small,  but  what  got  her  goat  was 
the  nicknames  her  diminutive  size  had  evoked. 
Some  smartie  on  a  Los  Angeles  paper  had  called 
her  the  "Pocket  Artemis."  What  was  an  Arte- 
mis anyway? 

"Search  me,"  said  Hank. 

"It's  a  goddess,"  said  George,  "same  thing  as 
Diana. ' ' 

Well,  she  had  made  him  apologise,  anyhow. 

Candon  alone  took  little  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion. This  gentleman,  so  ready  in  an  emergency, 
seemed  all  abroad  before  the  creature  he  had 
captured  and  carried  off.  He  sat  absorbing  her 
without  neglecting  his  food  and  later  on  when  she 
was  on  deck  he  appeared  with  half  an  armful 
of  books. 

She  was  a  book  worm  in  private  life  and  had 
hinted  at  the  fact,  out  of  which  B.  C.  made  profit. 

"Here's  some  books,"  said  he.  "They  aren't 
much,  but  they're  all  we've  got.  That  chair 
comfortable?" 

Then  they  fell  into  talk,  Candon  taking  his  seat 
beside  her  on  the  deck  and  close  to  the  little  heap 
of  books. 

They  had  scarcely  spoken  to  one  another  at  the 
breakfast  table  and  now,  all  of  a  sudden,  they 
were  chattering  together  like  magpies.  Hank  and 
George,  smoking  in  the  cabin  down  below,  could 
hear  their  voices  through  the  skylight. 

"Wonder  what  she'd  say  if  she  knew,"  said 
Hank  in  a  grumbling  tone. 


150  VANDERDECKEN 

"Knew  what?"  asked  George. 

"  'Bout  B.  C.  being  Vanderdecken." 

"Oh,  she'd  ten  to  one  like  him  all  the  better," 
said  George.  "It's  his  watch  and  I  wish  he'd 
quit  fooling  and  look  after  the  ship." 

"The  ship's  all  right,"  said  Hank. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  couldn't  hurt  her  or  break  her  on  a  rock, 
not  till  she's  done  with  us;  you  couldn't  rip  the 
masts  out  of  her  or  put  her  ashore,  not  till  she's 
finished  with  us;  she's  a  mug  trap  and  we're  the 
mugs.  I  believe  Jake  put  a  spell  on  her.  What's 
to  be  the  end  of  it?  I  tell  you  it  makes  me  crawl 
down  the  back  when  I  think  of  that  junk.  What 
made  that  blue-eyed  squatteroo  of  a  B.  C.  ram  her 
like  that  for?" 

"Well,  if  he  hadn't,  she'd  have  boarded  us." 

"Boarded  us,  be  hanged!  If  he'd  blame  well 
stuck  ashore  at  'Frisco,  we  wouldn't  have  landed 
at  San  Nicolas." 

"Well,  there's  no  use  whining,"  said  George. 
"We're  in  the  soup — question  is  how  to  get  out. 
We've  got  to  collar  that  boodle  first  so's  to  have 
something  to  show." 

"Something  to  show — Lord!  We'll  be  shows 
enough. ' ' 

"Well,  strikes  me  since  we  went  into  such  a 
damn-fool  business — " 

Hank  snorted.  "Well,  I  didn't  pull  you  in,  you 
would  butt  in — it's  none  of  my  fault." 

"Who  said  it  was?" 


THE  NEW  CHUM  151 

1 1 1  'm  not  saying  who  said  it  was  or  who  said  it 
wasn't — thing  is,  there's  no  use  in  complaining." 

"I  said  that  a  moment  ago." 

"Oh,  well,  there  you  are — I'm  going  on  deck." 

Almost  a  quarrel  and  all  because  the  pocket 
Artemis  was  chatting  to  another  man  who  had 
blue  eyes — a  blue-eyed  squatteroo  who  was  only 
yesterday  good  old  B.  C. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  FEEIQHTEB 

THE  sea  grew  bluer. 
Day  by  day  the  Kiro  Shiwo  increased  its 
splendour  as  the  Wear  Jack,  at  a  steady  ten 
knot  clip,  left  the  latitude  of  Guadeloupe  behind, 
raising  Eugenio  Point  and  the  heat-hazy  coast 
that  stretches  to  Cape  San  Pablo. 

The  threatened  difference  between  Hank  and 
George  had  died  out.  The  reason  of  this  release 
was  not  far  to  seek.  Tommie,  at  that  moment  of 
her  life,  was  as  destitute  of  all  the  infernal  sex 
wiles  of  womanhood  as  a  melon.  She  had  no  idea 
of  men  as  anything  else  than  companions;  that 
was  why  the  pocket  Artemis  failed  a  bit  in  love 
scenes.  A  year  ago  she  had  signed  a  contract 
with  the  "Wallack  and  Jackson  Company  by  which 
she  received  forty  thousand  dollars  a  year  for 
five  years,  and  Wallack  had  reason  sometimes  to 
grumble.  Tommie  had  no  idea  of  how  to  fling 
herself  into  the  arms  of  movie  heroes,  or  to  do 
the  face-work  in  a  close-up  when  the  heroine  is 
exhibiting  to  the  audience  the  grin  and  glad  eye, 
or  the  " Abandon,"  or  the  "Passionate  Appeal" 
so  dear  to  the  movie  fan. 

"Good  God,  that  ain't  the  way  to  make  love," 

152 


THE  FREIGHTER  153 

would  cry  Scudder,  her  first  producer.  "Nuzzle 
him — stop.  Now  then,  make  ready  and  get 
abandon  into  it.  He's  not  the  plumber  come  to 
mend  the  bath,  nor  your  long-lost  brother  you 
wished  had  remained  in  'Urope  and  you're 
hugging  for  the  sake  of  appearance.  He's  the  guy 
you're  in  love  with.  Now  then,  put  some  heart, 
punch  and  pep  into  it — now  then !  Camera ! ' ' 

No  good. 

"Oh  Lord,  oh  Lord!"  the  perspiring  Scudder 
would  cry,  "looks  as  if  you  were  nursing  a  teddy 
bear.  Strain  him  to  your  heart.  Stop  flapping 
your  hands  on  his  back.  Now,  look  up  in  his 
face — so — astonished  yet  almost  fearful.  Can't 
you  understand  the  wonder  of  love  just  born  in 
the  human  heart,  the  soul's  awakening?  Lord! 
you're  not  lookin'  at  an  eclipse  of  the  sun !  That's 
better,  hang  on  so,  count  ten  and  then  nuzzle 
him." 

But  despite  all  directions  Tommie  was  some- 
what a  failure  in  passion. 

Wallack  summed  the  position  up  when  he 
declared  that  it  would  be  worth  paying  ten 
thousand  dollars  a  year  to  some  man  that  would 
do  the  soul's  awakening  business  with  Tommie. 
She  could  laugh,  weep,  fly  into  a  temper,  ride  a 
mustang  bare-backed,  drive  a  motor  car  over  a 
precipice,  be  as  funny  in  her  diminutive  way  as 
Charlie  Chaplin,  but  she  couldn't  make  love  worth 
a  cent. 

That  was  what  Hank  Fisher  &  Co.  sensed,  when 


154.  VANDERDECKEN 

the  girl  illusion  vanished,  disclosing  a  jolly  com- 
panion and  nothing  more ;  sensed,  without  in  the 
least  sensing  the  fact  that  owing  maybe  to  her 
small  size,  she  had  a  power  almost  as  strong  as 
the  power  that  wakens  the  wonder  of  love  in  the 
human  heart. 

Life  was  different  on  board,  owing  to  this  new 
importation;  busier  too.  This  was  an  entirely 
new  stunt,  to  Tommie,  and  just  as  she  knew  every- 
thing about  an  automobile,  an  aeroplane,  and  a 
horse,  she  seemed  determined  to  know  everything 
about  the  Wear  Jack.  Her  capacity  for  assimilat- 
ing detail  was  phenomenal ;  the  use  of  everything 
from  the  main  sheet  buffer  to  the  mast  winch 
had  to  be  explained,  she  had  to  learn  how  to  steer, 
and,  having  learned,  she  insisted  on  taking  her 
trick  at  the  wheel.  When  she  was  not  sitting  with 
her  nose  in  a  book,  she  was  helping  or  hindering 
in  the  running  of  the  ship.  Then  there  was  the 
question  of  her  clothes  to  keep  them  busy. 

Drawing  on  to  the  tropics,  it  was  more  a 
question  of  shedding  clothes,  especially  when  it 
came  to  the  matter  of  tweed  coats  and  skirts. 
Bud,  in  his  millionaire  way,  had  come  well  pro- 
vided ;  boxes  and  boxes  had  arrived  from  Hewson 
&  Loder's  and  had  been  received  by  Hank  and 
stowed  as  "more  of  Bud's  truck."  White  silk 
shirts,  suits  of  white  drill,  they  all  rose  up  like  a 
white  cloud  in  George's  mind  one  blue  and  burning 
morning  as  he  contemplated  Tommie  in  her 
stuffy  tweeds. 


THE  FREIGHTER  155 

"Look  here,  T.  C.,"  said  George,  "you  can't 
get  along  in  that  toggery.  I've  half  a  dozen  suits 
of  white  down  below  and  I'll  get  one  of  the  Chinks 
to  tailor  a  couple  of  them  for  you.  Hank,  roust 
out  those  boxes,  will  you?" 

They  tried  a  white  drill  coat  on  her. 

They  had  never  really  recognised  her  size  till 
they  saw  her  in  that  coat,  which  would  almost 
have  done  her  for  an  overcoat.  Then  they  recog- 
nised that  perfect  proportion  had  given  her 
stature  and  that,  if  the  gods  had  made  her  head 
an  inch  or  so  more  in  circumference,  she  would 
have  been  a  dwarf. 

Then  Hank  started  forward  to  find  a  tailor 
amongst  the  Chinks  and  returned  with  a  slit- 
eyed  individual  who  contemplated  his  strange 
customer,  standing  like  Mr.  Hyde  in  the  garment 
of  Dr.  Jekyll,  took  eye  measurements  of  the 
length  of  her  limbs  and  the  circumference  of  her 
waist  and  retired  to  the  foc'sle  with  two  pairs  of 
white  drill  trousers  and  two  coats  to  work  his 
works,  also  some  white  silk  pajamas  and  shirts, 
producing  by  the  next  morning  an  outfit  which 
fitted,  more  or  less.  She  solved  the  question  of 
shoes  and  stockings  by  discarding  them  on  deck. 

That  was  on  the  morning  when,  across  the  sea 
to  port,  Cape  San  Lazaro  showed  itself  and  the 
heat-hazy  opening  to  Magdalena  Bay. 

The  steady  nor 'westerly  breeze  that  had  held 
all  night  began  to  flicker  out  at  dawn ;  when  they 
came  up  from  breakfast  the  world  had  gone  to 


156  VANDERDECKEN 

sleep.  From  the  hazy  coast  to  the  hazy  horizon 
nothing  moved  but  the  vast  marching  glassy 
swell  coming  up  from  a  thousand  miles  away  and 
unruffled  by  the  faintest  breeze. 

Tommie,  having  come  on  deck  and  taken  a  sniff 
at  the  glacial  condition  of  things,  curled  herself 
in  one  of  the  deck  chairs  with  a  book.  The  Wear 
Jack  was  well  provided  with  deck  chairs  and 
Hank,  having  inspected  the  weather,  dived  below 
and  brought  one  up ;  George  followed  suit.  Then, 
having  placed  the  chairs  about  under  the  awning 
which  had  been  rigged,  they  sat  and  smoked  and 
talked,  Tommie,  up  to  her  eyes  in  her  confounded 
book,  taking  no  part  in  the  conversation. 

T.  C.  was  one  of  those  readers  who  become 
absolutely  dead  to  surroundings.  Curled  there 
with  her  nose  in  "Traffics  and  Discoveries,"  she 
looked  as  if  you  might  have  knicked  her  without 
waking  her,  and  this  fact  somehow  cast  a  pall  over 
the  conversation  of  Hank  and  Bud,  who,  after  a 
few  minutes,  found  their  conversation  beginning 
to  dry  up. 

"Lord,"  said  Hank,  "I  wonder  how  long  this 
beastly  calm's  going  to  hold." 

"Don't  know,"  said  George. 

Then  Candon  came  on  dwk.  He  had  no  chair. 
He  stood  with  his  back  to  the  port  rail  cutting  up 
some  tobacco  «jad  filling  a  pipe. 

"I  wo^er  how  long  this  beastly  calm  is  going 
to  hold,"  said  George. 

'Lord  knows,"  said  Candon. 


THE  FREIGHTER  157 

Tommie  chuckled.  Something  in  the  book  had 
tickled  her,  she  turned  over  a  page  rapidly  and 
plunged  deeper  into  oblivion  like  a  puffin  after 
smelts. 

"What's  the  current  taking  us?"  asked  George. 

"Maybe  three  knots,"  said  Hank.  "There's 
no  saying."  He  yawned,  then,  as  though  the  idea 
had  just  struck  him,  "Say — what's  wrong  with 
trying  the  engine?" 

"It's  too  beastly  hot  for  tinkering  over 
engines,"  yawned  George,  "and  B.  C.  says  he 
can't  get  the  thing  to  go." 

"Go'n'  have  another  try,  B.  C.,"  said  Hank. 
"There's  no  use  in  us  sitting  here  wagging  our 
tails  and  waiting  for  the  wind.  Tell  you  what, 
I'll  draw  lots  with  you — give's  a  piece  of  paper, 
Bud." 

George  produced  an  old  letter  and  Hank  tore 
off  three  slips,  one  long  and  two  short. 

Candon,  with  little  interest  in  the  business, 
drew  a  short  slip,  George  the  long  one. 

"It's  me,"  said  George  rising.  "Well  now,  I'll 
just  tell  you,  if  I  don't  get  the  thing  to  revolute 
I'll  stick  there  till  I  do.  I'm  not  going-'to  be  beat 
by  a  bit  of  machinery."  He  moved  towards  the 
hatch. 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Tommie,  suddenly 
dog's-earing  a  page  and  closing  her  book,  as 
though  she  had  been  listening  to  the  whole  con- 
versation, which,  in  a  way,  she  had. 

Hank  and  Candon  were  left  alone  and  Candon 


158  VANDERDECKEN 

took  his  seat  in  the  chair  vacated  by  George. 
Neither  seemed  in  good  humour ;  perhaps  it  was 
the  heat. 

From  down  below,  through  the  open  hatch 
leading  to  the  little  engine  room,  they  could  hear 
voices!  George's  voice  and  the  voice  of  T.  C. 

Then,  as  they  sat  yawning,  another  sound  came, 
faint  and  far  away,  rhythmical,  ghostly. 

Hank  raised  himself  and  looked.  Away  to  the 
s'uth'ard,  across  the  glassy  sea,  a  freighter  was 
coming  up.  She  was  a  great  distance  off,  but  in 
the  absolute  stillness  and  across  that  glacial  calm 
the  thud  of  her  propellers  could  be  felt  by  the  ear. 

Both  men  left  their  chairs  and  leaned  on  the 
rail  watching  her. 

Said  Candon,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "D'y' 
know  what  I've  been  thinking?  I've  been  thinking 
we've  played  it  pretty  low-down  on  T.  C." 

"How?" 

"Well,  it's  this  way.  McGinnis  will  be  after 
us,  sure,  as  soon  as  he  can  get  his  hoofs  under 
him.  He'll  know  we're  making  for  the  Bay  of 
Whales  and  he'll  be  after  us.  Question  is,  can 
he  get  the  Heart  tinkered  up  in  time,  or  would 
he  take  another  boat.  If  he  does  and  catches 
us,  there's  sure  to  be  a  fight.  We  should  have 
told  T.  C.  that.  I  thought  of  it  this  morning  at 
breakfast. ' ' 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  tell  her?" 

"Well,  I  didn't,   somehow.     There's   another 


THE  FREIGHTER  159 

thing,  we've  never  told  her  who  I  am.  That's 
worried  me." 

1  'Well,  it's  easy  enough  to  tell  her." 

"No,  sir,  it  isn't,  not  by  a  long  chalk.  I  almost 
came  to  it  yesterday.  It  was  when  you  two  were 
down  below  and  I  had  her  here  on  deck  showing 
her  how  to  make  a  fisherman's  bend.  It  came  to 
me  to  tell  her  and  I  opened  out  about  Vander- 
decken,  saying  he  wasn't  maybe  as  bad  as  some 
folk  painted  him,  then  she  closed  me  up  and  put 
the  lid  on." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Said  stealing  was  stealing  and  taking  women's 
jewelry  was  a  dirty  trick." 

"Why  didn't  you  explain?" 

"Because  she  was  right.  Right  or  wrong, 
how's  a  fellow  to  explain?  Well,  there  it  is. 
You'd  better  go  down  to  her  and  say,  'That  lad 
Candon's  Vanderdecken  and  Pat  McGinnis  is 
after  him  and  there'll  maybe  be  a  dust-up  when 
we  get  down  to  the  Bay,  and  there's  a  freighter 
coming  along  that'll  take  you  back  north  and 
you'd  better  get  aboard  her.'  " 

"Me!" 

"Yes,  you — it's  clean  beyond  me." 

Hank  watched  the  freighter.  She  was  away  up 
now  out  of  the  water  and  showing  the  white  of  her 
bridge  screen.  At  her  present  speed  she  would 
soon  be  level  with  them. 

"She  looks  to  be  in  ballast,  don't  she?"  said 
Hank. 

"Yep." 


160  VANDERDECKEN 

"Where's  she  going,  do  you  think!" 

"  'Frisco,  sure." 

"That's  a  long  way  from  Los  Angeles." 

"Maybe,  but  it's  nearer  than  the  Bay  o' 
Whales." 

The  freighter  grew;  she  was  making  anything 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  knots ;  she  would  pass  the 
Wear  Jack  and  a  signal  would  stop  her  as  sure  ap 
a  bullet  through  the  eye  will  stop  a  man. 

Then,  suddenly,  something  that  had  risen  to 
Hank's  surface  intelligence  like  a  bubble,  burst 
angrily. 

"You  can  go  down  and  tell  her  yourself,"  said 
he,  "it's  no  affair  of  mine.  If  she  wasn't  fooling 
there  with  Bud,  she'd  have  seen  the  ship.  How'n 
the  nation  do  you  think  I  'm  going  to  go  down  and 
give  you  away  like  that  ? ' ' 

Candon  hung  silent,  as  if  offended  with  the 
other.  He  wasn't  in  the  least.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  water  over  the  side.  Eight  below,  in 
the  bit  of  shadow  cast  by  the  ship  against  the 
morning  sun,  the  water  lay,  pure  emerald,  and 
showing  fathom-deep  glimpses  of  life,  scraps  of 
fuci,  hints  of  jelly  fish  and  once,  far  down,  like  a 
moving  jewel  in  a  world  of  crystal,  an  albacore 
passing  swift  as  a  sword  thrust. 

Ahead  of  them  on  the  lifting  swell  a  turtle  was 
sunning  itself  awash  in  the  blue  of  that  lazy  silent 
sea,  one  polished  plate  of  its  carapace  showing 
like  a  spot  of  burnished  steel. 

Candon  found  himself  wondering  why  one  plate 
should  shine  like  that.  It  looked  now  like  a  little 


THE  FREIGHTER  161 

window  in  a  roof,  then  it  seemed  to  Mm  that  out 
of  that  window  came  an  idea,  or  rather  a  vision. 
A  horrible  vision  of  the  freighter  going  off  with 
Tommie  and  vanishing  beyond  the  northern  sky- 
line with  her.  Not  till  that  moment  had  he 
recognised  that  T.  C.  was  at  once  the  lynch-pin  of 
their  coach  and  the  thing  that  had  suddenly  come 
to  lend  reason  to  his  own  life.  His  whole  existence 
had  led  logically  up  to  the  Vanderdecken  business 
and  the  Vanderdecken  business  had  led  to  her 
capture  and  her  capture  had  given  him  something 
to  care  for,  not  as  a  man  cares  for  a  girl,  but 
more  as  a  lonely  man  cares  for  a  child  or  a  dog. 
It  was  her  small  size,  maybe,  that  clinched  the 
thing  with  him  and  made  him  feel  that  he'd  sooner 
do  a  dive  overside  than  lose  touch  with  her. 

Hank  was  feeling  at  that  moment  pretty  much 
the  same.  The  microscopic  Tommie  had  captured 
the  leathery  Hank  as  a  chum. 

The  freighter  drew  on  and  they  could  see  now 
the  touch  of  white  where  the  spume  rose  in  a 
feather  at  her  fore  foot.  It  was  a  huge  brute  of  a 
Coleman  liner  up  from  Callao  or  Valparaiso,  a 
five  thousand  tonner  with  a  rust-red  funnel. 

If  they  stopped  her,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
get  T.  C.  on  deck  right  away  and  the  Chinks  ready 
to  man  the  boat.  There  would  be  scarcely  time 
to  say  good-bye — besides,  it  was  ten  to  one  T.  C. 
wouldn't  want  to  go — besides  she  was  in  those 
togs.  The  freighter  was  abreast  of  them  now. 
They  watched  her  without  a  word.  Suddenly  a 
stream  of  bunting  fluttered  up  and  blew  out  on 


162  VANDERDECKEN 

the  wind  of  her  passage.  Candon  shaded  his  eyes 
and  looked. 

''Wishing  us  a  pleasant  voyage,"  said  Candon. 

They  watched  the  flags  flutter  down  and  the 
great  turtle  backed  stern  with  the  sunlight  on  it 
and  the  plumes  of  foam  from  the  propellers. 
Then,  as  the  wash  reached  them,  making  the  Wear 
Jack  groan  and  clatter  her  blocks,  came  a  new 
sound,  a  thrud-thrud-thrud  right  under  their  feet, 
followed  by  the  voice  of  George  yelling,  ' '  Hi,  you 
chaps,  get  the  helm  on  her,  engine's  going." 

Candon  sprang  to  the  wheel  and  Hank  came 
and  stood  beside  him. 

Hank  said,  "That  freighter  must  have  thought 
us  awful  swine  not  acknowledging  their  signal." 

"Maybe  they  thought  right,"  said  Candon. 

At  that  moment,  George  appeared,  triumphant 
from  the  engine  room.  "She's  running  a  treat," 
said  he,  "and  T.  C.'s  looking  after  her.  What's 
made  the  cross  swell?"  Without  waiting  for  an 
answer  and  at  a  call  from  Tommie,  he  dived  below 
again. 

Half  an  hour  later  when  he  came  on  deck,  taking 
a  look  aft,  George  said:  "Now  if  we  hadn't  an 
auxiliary  engine  and  if  it  wasn't  running  well, 
this  calm  would  have  lasted  a  fortnight.  Look 
there!" 

They  looked.  Away  to  northward  a  vast 
expanse  of  the  glassy  swell  had  turned  to  a  tray  of 
smashed  sapphires. 

It  was  the  breeze. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THEY  TURN  THE  CORNER 

THEY  had  given  Tommie  the  after  cabin,  but 
this  hot  weather  the  three  of  them  kept  the 
deck  at  night  so  that  she  might  have  her 
door  open,  and  to-night,  just  before  dawn  when 
the  Wear  Jack  was  right  on  to  Cape  St.  Lucas, 
Candon  and  George  were  keeping  watch  and 
listening  to  Hank.  Hank  was  lying  on  the  deck 
with  a  pillow  under  his  head,  snoring.  The  engine 
had  been  shut  off  to  save  gasoline,  and  the  Wear 
Jack,  with  a  Chink  at  the  wheel  and  the  main  boom 
guyed  out,  was  sailing  dead  before  the  wind, 
under  a  million  stars,  through  a  silence  broken 
only  by  the  bow  wash  and  the  snores  of  Hank. 

Candon,  pacing  the  deck  with  George,  was  in  a 
reflective  mood. 

"Wonder  what  that  Chink's  thinking  about?" 
said  he.  ' '  Home  mostlike.  They  say  every  China- 
man carries  China  about  with  him  in  his  box  and 
unpacks  it  when  he  lights  his  opium  pipe.  Well, 
it's  a  good  thing  to  have  a  home.  Lord!  what's 
the  good  of  anything  else,  what's  the  good  of 
working  for  money  to  spend  in  Chicago  or 

163 


164  VANDERDECKEN 

N'  York?  I  reckon  there's  many  a  millionaire  in 
the  cities,  living  all  day  in  his  office  on  pills  an' 
pepsin,  would  swop  his  dollars  for  the  old  home 
if  he  could  get  it  back,  the  old  shanty  near  where 
the  cows  used  to  graze  in  the  meadows  and  the 
fish  jump  in  the  stream,  with  his  old  dad  and  his 
mother  sitting  by  the  fire  and  his  sister  Sue 
playin'  on  the  step." 

"Where  was  your  home?"  asked  George. 

"Never  had  one,"  said  Candon,  "and  never 
will." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will." 

"Don't  see  it.  Don't  see  where  it's  to  come 
from,  even  if  I  had  the  dollars.  I'm  a  lone  man. 
Reckon  there's  bucks  in  every  herd  same  as  me. 
Look  at  me,  getting  on  for  forty  and  the  nearest 
thing  to  a  home  is  a  penitentiary.  That's  so." 

"Now  look  here,  B.  C.,"  said  George, — then  he 
stopped  dead.  A  sudden  great  uplift  had  come  in 
his  mind.  Perhaps  it  was  the  night  of  stars 
through  which  they  were  driving  or  some  waft 
from  old  Harley  du  Cane,  the  railway  wrecker, 
who,  still,  always  had  his  hand  in  his  pocket  for 
any  unfortunate ;  perhaps  he  had  long  and  sub- 
consciously been  debating  in  his  mind  the  case  of 
Candon:  who  knows? 

"You  were  going  to  say — *"  said  Candon. 

"Just  this,"  said  George.  "Close  up  on  the 
penitentiary  business.  There's  worse  men  than 
you  in  the  church,  B.  C.,  or  I'm  a  nigger.  You're 


THEY  TURN  THE  CORNER  165 

going  to  have  a  home  yet  and  a  jolly  good  one. 
I've  got  it  for  you." 

"Where?" 

"In  my  pocket.  Fruit  farming,  that's  your 
line,  and  a  partner  that  can  put  up  the  dollars — 
that's  me." 

Candon  was  silent  foi-  a  moment. 

"It's  good  of  you,"  said  he  at  last,  "damn  good 
of  you.  I  reckon  I  could  make  a  business  pay  if 
it  came  to  that,  but  there's  more  than  dollars, 
Bud.  I  reckon  I  was  born  a  wild  duck.  I've  no 
anchor  on  board  that  wouldn't  pull  out  of  the 
mud  first  bit  of  wind  that'd  make  me  want  to  go 
wandering. ' ' 

"I'll  fix  you  up  with  an  anchor,"  said  Bud, 
' '  somehow  or  other.  You  leave  things  to  me  and 
trust  your  uncle  Bud." 

He  was  thinking  of  getting  Candon  married, 
somehow,  to  some  girl.  He  could  almost  visualize 
her:  a  big,  healthy,  honest  American  girl,  busi- 
nesslike, with  a  heart  the  size  of  a  cauliflower — 
some  anchor. 

"Sun's  coming,"  said  George,  turning  and 
stirring  Hank  awake  with  the  point  of  his  toe. 
Hank  sat  up  yawning. 

Away  on  the  port  bow,  against  a  watery  blue 
window  of  sky,  Cape  St.  Lucas  showed,  its  light- 
house winking  at  the  dawn.  Then  came  the  clang 
of  gulls,  starting  for  the  fishing,  and  moment  by 
moment  as  they  watched,  the  sea  beyond  the  cape 
showed  sharper,  steel-blue  and  desolate  beyond 


166  VANDERDECKEN 

words.  The  north  could  show  nothing  colder,  till, 
all  at  once,  over  the  hills  came  colour  on  a  sud- 
denly materialised  reef  of  cloud. 

They  held  their  course  whilst  the  day  grew 
broader  and  the  cape  fell  astern;  then,  shifting 
the  helm,  they  steered  right  into  the  eye  of  the 
sun  for  the  coast  of  Mexico. 

They  had  turned  the  tip  of  Lower  California. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  BAY  OF  WHALES 

MAGDALENA  BAY,  that  great  expanse  of 
protected  water  between  Punta  Entrado 
and  Santa  Margarita  Island,  was  once  a 
great  haunt  of  the  sulphur  bottom  whales.  Then 
came  the  shark  fishers  and  then  came  the  Amer- 
ican Pacific  Fleet  and  made  a  gun  practice  ground 
of  it,  just  as  they  have  made  a  speed  testing 
ground  of  the  Santa  Barbara  Channel  between 
the  Channel  Islands  and  the  coast.  Maybe  that 
drove  the  sulphur  bottoms  to  go  south  all  in  a 
body  and  the  more  pessimistical  ones  to  commit 
suicide  in  a  bunch,  and  all  on  the  same  day  in  the 
bay  once  known  as  the  Bay  of  Jaures  and  now  as 
the  Bay  of  Whales.  For  the  bones  seem  all  of  the 
same  date,  ghost-white,  calcined  by  sun  and  worn 
by  the  moving  sands  that  cover  them  and  uncover 
them  and  the  winds  that  drive  the  sands. 

Another  thing,  you  find  them  almost  to  the  foot 
of  the  low  cliffs  that  ring  the  bay.  How  has  this 
happened?  The  wind.  The  wind  that  can  lift  as 
well  as  drift,  the  wind  that  is  always  redisposing 
the  sands. 

167 


168  VANDERDECKEN 

The  bay  stretches  for  a  distance  of  four  miles 
between  horn  and  horn ;  the  water  is  strewn  with 
reefs  visible  at  low  tide.  Emerald  shallows  and 
sapphire  depths  and  foam  lines  and  snow  of  gulls 
all  show  more  beautiful  than  any  picture;  and 
beyond  lie  the  sands  and  the  cliffs  and  the  country 
desolate  as  when  Jaures  first  sighted  it.  Near 
the  centre  of  the  beach,  at  the  sea  edge,  stands  a 
great  rock  shaped  like  a  pulpit. 

"That's  the  bay,"  said  Candon,  pointing  ahead. 

It  was  noon  and  the  Wear  Jack,  with  all  plain 
sail  set,  was  driving  straight  for  a  great  blue 
break  in  the  reefs,  Hank  at  the  helm  and  Candon 
giving  directions.  The  Chinks  were  all  on  deck, 
gathered  forward,  their  faces  turned  shoreward, 
gazing  at  the  land  almost  with  interest. 

''Where  are  the  whales?"  asked  Tommie  sud- 
denly. "You  said  it  was  all  covered  with  the 
skeletons  of  whales." 

"You'll  see  them  quick  enough,"  said  Candon. 
"Port,  steady  so." 

The  rip  of  the  outgoing  tide  was  making  a 
lather  round  the  reef  spurs.  Ahead  the  diamond- 
bright  dead  blue  water  showed  up  to  a  line  where 
it  suddenly  turned  to  emerald. 

"It's  twenty  fathoms  up  to  there,"  said 
Candon,  "and  then  the  sands  take  hold.  I'm 
anchoring  somewhere  about  here.  It's  a  good 
bottom.  Make  ready  with  the  anchor  there!" 

He  held  on  for  another  minute  or  so,  then  the 
wind  spilled  from  the  sails  and  the  anchor  fell  in 


THE  BAY  OF  WHALES  169 

fifteen  fathom  water  and  nearly  half  a  mile  from 
the  shore. 

The  boat  was  got  over,  with  two  Chinks  to  do 
the  rowing,  and  they  started,  Candon  steering. 

"Where's  the  whales?"  asked  Tommie. 

They  were  almost  on  to  the  beach  now  and  there 
lay  the  sands  singing  to  the  sun  and  wind.  Miles 
and  miles  of  sand,  with  ponds  of  mirage  to  the 
south,  and  gulls  strutting  on  the  uncovered  beach ; 
a  vast  desolation,  with,  far  overhead,  just  a  dot 
in  the  blue,  an  eagle  from  the  hills  of  Sinaloa. 
An  eagle  so  high  as  to  be  all  but  invisible,  whose 
eyes  could  yet  number  the  shells  on  the  beach 
and  the  movement  of  the  smallest  crab.  But 
where  were  the  whales? 

T.  C.  had  once  seen  a  whale's  skeleton  in  a 
museum,  set  up  and  articulated.  Her  vivid  imag- 
ination had  pictured  a  beach  covered  with  whale 
skeletons  just  like  that,  and,  instead  of  thanking 
providence  for  the  absence  of  such  a  bone-yard, 
her  mind  grumbled.  She  was  wearing  one  of 
Bud's  superfluous  panamas  and  she  took  it  off 
and  put  it  on  again. 

As  they  landed  close  to  the  pulpit  rock  Hank 
said  nothing,  George  said  nothing,  Candon,  visibly 
disturbed,  looked  north  and  south.  Here  but  a 
short  time  ago  had  been  ribs  lying  about  like  great 
bent  staves,  skulls,  vertebrae.  Here  to-day  there 
was  nothing  but  sand. 

He  did  not  know  that  a  fortnight  ago  a  south 
wind  had  "moved  the  beach,"  bringing  up  hun- 


170  VANDERDECKEN 

dreds  of  thousands  of  tons  of  sand  not  only  from 
the  south  end  but  from  the  bay  beyond ;  that  in  a 
month  more,  maybe,  a  north  wind  would  move  the 
beach,  sending  the  sand  back  home;  that  only 
between  the  winds  the  bones  were  laid  fully  bare. 
No  storm  was  required  to  do  the  work,  just  a 
steady  driving  wind  sifting,  sifting,  sifting  for 
days  and  days. 

The  fact  that  the  beach  seemed  higher  just  here 
suddenly  brought  the  truth  to  Candon. 

"Boys,"  said  he,  "it's  the  sand." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment  under  the  frost  that 
had  fallen  on  them.  Then  Hank  said,  "Sure 
you've  struck  the  right  bay?" 

Like  Tommie,  he  had  pictured  entire  skeletons, 
not  bones  and  skulls  lying  flat  and  easily  sanded 
over. 

"Sure.    It's  the  sand  has  lifted  over  them." 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken  when  a  thunderbolt  fell 
into  the  shallows  a  cable  length  away  from  the 
shore.  It  was  the  eagle.  In  a  moment  it  rose,  a 
fish  in  its  talons,  and  went  climbing  the  air  to 
seaward,  and  then  up  a  vast  spiral  stairs  in  the 
blue,  and  then,  like  an  arrow,  away  to  the  far-off 
hills. 

It  was  like  an  underscore  to  the  desolation  of 
this  place,  where  man  was  disregarded  if  not  un- 
known. 

"Well,"  said  George,  coming  back  to  things, 
"the  bones  aren't  any  use  anyway.  Let's  start 
for  the  boodle.  Strike  out  for  the  cache,  B.  C." 


THE  BAY  OF  WHALES  171 

They  turned,  following  their  leader,  and  made 
diagonally  for  the  cliffs  to  the  north.  Candon 
walked  heavily,  a  vague  suspicion  filling  his  mind 
that  Hank  and  George  held  something  more  in 
reservation  than  mere  disappointment  over  absent 
skeletons.  The  odious  thought  that  they  might 
suspect  him  of  being  a  fraud  came  to  him  as  he 
walked,  but  he  had  little  time  for  self  communing. 
Something  worse  was  in  store,  and  he  saw  it  now, 
and  wondered  at  his  stupidity  in  not  having  seen 
it  before. 

Amongst  the  implements  of  the  expedition  two 
spades  had  been  brought.  The  Chinks  carried 
these  spades.  They  brought  up  the  rear  of  the 
procession,  silent,  imperturbable,  apparently  in- 
curious. They  would  not  do  the  digging  when 
the  moment  came.  Candon  and  Hank,  or  George 
would  be  easily  able  to  negotiate  the  few  feet  of 
hard  sand  that  covered  the  treasure.  The  Chinks 
just  carried  the  spades.  Candon  stopped  dead  all 
of  a  sudden.  Then  he  went  on,  quickening  his 
pace  almost  to  a  run.  The  booty  had  been  buried 
at  a  place  easily  recognisable,  on  the  southern 
side  of  a  little  out-jut  of  the  cliff  and  about  ten 
feet  from  an  issue  of  water  that  came  clear  and 
cold  and  bright  through  a  crack  in  the  cliff  face. 

The  issue  was  still  there,  but  it  was  far  lower 
than  before;  the  sand  had  risen.  The  wind  had 
done  its  work  and  five  feet  or  more  of  new  sand 
lay  upon  the  cache.  It  ran  up  the  cliff  race  like  a 
snow  drift.  Five  or  six  feet  of  pliable  sand  that 


172  VANDERDECKEN 

seemed  an  almost  impassable  barrier.  The  big 
man  folded  his  arms  and  stood  for  a  moment 
dumb.  Then  he  laughed. 

"Boys,"  said  he,  "I'm  a  fraud." 

No  answer  came  but  the  wash  of  the  little  waves 
on  the  beach  and  far  gull  voices  from  the  south. 
He  turned  about  fiercely. 

"I've  led  you  wrong.  I've  fooled  you,  but  it's 
not  me.  It's  my  pardner.  It's  the  sand.  Sand. 
That's  me  and  all  my  work.  All  I've  ever  stood 
on,  sand.  Sand.  Six  foot  deep." 

"For  the  land's  sake,  B.  C.,"  cried  Hank,  "get 
a  clutch  on  yourself.  What's  wrong  with  you 
anyhow  ? ' ' 

"He  means  the  sand  has  covered  the  cache," 
said  the  steady  voice  of  Tommie. 

Candon  did  not  look  at  her.  It  seemed  to  him 
just  then,  in  that  moment  of  disappointment,  that 
Fate  was  carefully  explaining  to  him  the  futility 
of  his  works  and  his  life,  and  in  an  immeasurably 
short  space  of  time  all  sorts  of  little  details,  from 
his  Alaskan  experiences  to  his  absurd  rescue  of 
Tommie,  all  sorts  of  weaknesses,  from  his  enjoy- 
ment of  robbery  to  his  inaction  in  letting  that 
freighter  pass,  rose  before  him.  He  struggled  to 
find  more  words. 

"It's  just  me,"  said  he,  and  fell  dumb  and 
brooding. 

"Well,"  said  George,  "it's  a  long  way  to  come 
— to  be  fooled  like  this — but  there's  an  end  of  it. 
How  many  men  would  it  take  to  move  that  stuff?" 


THE  BAY  OF  WHALES  173 

' '  Six  foot  of  sand  and  square  yards  of  surface ; 
it  would  take  a  steam  dredger,"  said  Hank,  in  a 
hard  voice. 

Tommie 's  eyes  were  fixed  on  Candon.  She 
knew  little  of  the  whole  thing,  but  she  knew  suffer- 
ing when  she  saw  it.  From  what  he  had  said  and 
from  his  attitude,  she  could  almost  read  Candon 's 
thoughts.  The  movie  business  is  a  teacher  of 
dumb  expression. 

"D'you  mean  to  say  you're  going  to  turn  this 
down?"  asked  Tommie. 

''What's  the  good?"  said  George.  He  was 
feeling  just  as  Hank  felt.  The  absence  of  whales' 
bones,  the  flatness  of  landing  on  an  ordinary  beach 
where  they  had  expected  to  see  strange  sights, 
had  deflated  them  both.  They  did  not  doubt  the 
bona  fides  of  B.  C.,  but  as  a  medicine  man  he  was 
at  a  discount. 

They  saw  before  them  hopeless  digging.  The 
thing  was  not  hopeless,  but  in  that  moment  of  de- 
fection and  disappointment  it  seemed  impossible. 

"Well,"  said  Tommie,  "next  time  I  start  on  a 
show  of  this  kind,  I'll  take  girls  along — that's 
all  I've  got  to  say." 

In  the  dead  silence  following  this  bomb-shell, 
Candon  looked  up  and  found  himself  looking 
straight  into  the  eyes  of  the  redoubtable  T.  C. 

"Talk  of  sands,"  she  went  on,  talking  to  him 
and  seeming  to  disregard  the  others,  "and  all 
your  life  has  been  sands  and  that  nonsense,  why 
it's  the  sand  in  a  man  that  makes  him.  Anyhow, 


174  VANDERDECKEN 

I've  not  come  all  this  distance  to  go  back  without 
having  a  try.  Aren't  you  going  to  dig?" 

The  scorn  in  her  tone  had  no  equivalent  in  her 
mind,  no  more  than  the  spur  on  a  rider's  heel  has 
to  do  with  his  mentality.  She  was  out  to  save 
B.  C.  from  himself.  Also,  although  she  did  not 
care  a  button  for  the  hidden  "boodle,"  her  whole 
soul  resented  turning  back  when  on  the  spot. 

Candon,  standing  before  her  like  a  chidden 
child,  seemed  to  flush  under  his  tan,  then  his  eyes 
turned  to  Hank. 

"Lord!  let's  dig,"  suddenly  said  Hank.  "Let's 
have  a  try  anyhow,  if  it  takes  a  month."  He 
stopped  and  stared  at  the  hopeless  looking  task 
before  him.  "We'll  get  the  whole  of  the  Chinks 
to  help— " 

"Chinks!"  said  Candon,  suddenly  coming  back 
to  his  old  self  in  a  snap.  "This  is  white  men's 
work — I  brought  you  here  and  I'll  do  it  myself  if 
I  have  to  dig  with  my  hands.  It's  there,  and 
we've  got  to  get  it." 

"I'll  help,"  said  Tommie. 

"Well,  I  reckon  we'll  all  help,"  said  George, 
unenthusiastically. 

It  was  a  strange  fact  that,  of  the  three  men, 
Tommie  had  least  power  over  George  du  Cane. 
Less  attraction  for  him  maybe,  even  though  the 
very  clothes  on  her  back  were  his. 


CHAPTER  XXVH 

THE  CONFESSION 

THE  size  of  the  task  was  apparent  to  all  of 
them,  but  to  none  more  clearly  than 
Candon. 

First  of  all,  reckoning  to  deal  with  hard  stuff, 
he  had  brought  spades,  not  shovels.  The  bundle 
had  been  buried  hurriedly;  even  under  the  best 
conditions  he  would  have  had  to  turn  over  many 
square  feet  of  stuff  to  find  it.  Then  this  soft  fickle 
sand  was  a  terrible  material  to  work  on;  it  was 
like  trying  to  shovel  away  water,  almost.  But  the 
most  daunting  thing  to  him  was  the  fact  that  fate 
had  induced  him  to  make  the  cache  on  the  south 
side  of  the  out-jut  of  cliff  instead  of  the  north,  for 
the  south  wind,  blowing  up  from  the  bay  beyond, 
had  added  feet  to  the  depth  to  be  dealt  with,  just 
as  a  wind  drifts  snow  against  any  obstruction. 
The  sand  level  on  the  north  of  the  jut  was  much 
lower,  and  it  was  not  drifted.  Then  there  was  the 
question  of  time.  Given  time  enough  the  McGrin- 
nis  crowd  would  surely  arrive,  if  he  knew  any- 
thing of  them,  and  there  would  be  a  fight.  And 
there  was  the  question  of  Tommie. 

175 


176  VANDERDECKEN 

This  last  consideration  only  came  to  him  now 
on  top  of  her  words,  "I'll  help."  He  stood  for  a 
moment  plunged  back  into  thought.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  others. 

''Boys,  I  reckon  I've  been  talking  through  my 
hat.  White  man  or  yellow  man  it's  all  the  same, 
we'll  all  have  to  take  our  turn.  Back  with  you, 
you  two,  to  the  ship  and  get  canvas  enough  for 
tents.  We'll  want  three.  Grub,  too;  we'll  want 
enough  for  a  week.  Leave  two  Chinks  to  look 
after  the  schooner  and  try  to  get  some  boarding 
to  make  extra  shovels,  as  much  as  you  can,  for 
we'll  want  some  to  shore  up  the  sand.  We've  got 
to  camp  here  right  on  our  work." 

"Sure,"  said  Hank.  "Come  along,  Bud,  we'll 
fetch  the  truck."  They  turned  towards  the  boat. 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Tommie,  "I  want  to 
fetch  my  book." 

"I'd  rather  you  didn't,"  said  Candon,  "I  want 
you  to  help  me  here." 

"Me!"  said  Tommie  surprised. 

"Yes — if  you  don't  mind." 

"All  right,"  said  she.  Then  to  Hank,  "You'll 
find  the  book  in  my  bunk,  and  fetch  me  my  tooth 
brush,  will  you — and  that  hair  brush  and  my 
pyjamas,  if  we've  got  to  camp." 

"Right,"  said  Hank,  "you  trust  me." 

They  shoved  off,  and  to  George,  as  he  looked 
back,  the  huge  figure  of  Candon  and  the  little 
figure  of  his  companion  seemed  strange  standing 
side  by  side  on  that  desolate  beach.  Stranger 


THE  CONFESSION  177 

even  than  the  whales '  skeletons  that  had  vanished. 

The  wind  had  veered  to  the  west  and  freshened, 
blowing  in  cool  from  the  sea. 

"Well,"  said  Tommie  after  they  had  watched 
the  boat  half  way  to  the  schooner,  ' '  what  are  you 
going  to  do  now?  What  did  you  want  me  for?" 

*  *  I  want  to  have  a  word  with  you, ' '  said  Candon. 
"S'pose  we  sit  down.  It's  fresh  and  breezy  here 
and  I  can  think  better  sitting  down  than  standing 
up.  I'm  bothered  at  your  being  dragged  into 
this  business,  and  that's  the  truth,  and  I've  things 
to  tell  you."  They  sat  down  and  the  big  man  took 
his  pipe  from  his  pocket  and  filled  it  in  a  leisurely 
and  far-away  manner,  absolutely  automatically. 

Tommie  watched  him,  vastly  interested  all  of 
a  sudden. 

"It's  this  way,"  said  he,  "I  got  rid  of  the  other 
chaps  so's  I  could  get  you  alone,  and  I'm  not 
going  one  peg  further  in  this  business  till  you 
know  all  about  me  and  the  chances  you're  running. 
Y'  remember  one  day  on  deck  I  was  talking  to 
you  about  that  chap  Vanderdecken  ? " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I'm  Vanderdecken." 

"You're  which?" 

"I'm  Vanderdecken.  The  swab  that  pirated 
those  yachts." 

"You!"  said  Tommie. 

"Yes.    I'm  the  swab." 

A  long  pause  followed  this  definite  statement. 
The  gulls  cried  and  the  waves  broke.  Tommie, 


178  VANDERDECKEN 

leaning  on  her  elbow  and  watching  the  breaking 
waves,  seemed  trying  to  adjust  her  mind  to  this 
idea  and  failing  utterly.  She  was  not  considering 
the  question  of  how  Vanderdecken,  who  was  being 
chased  by  Hank  and  George,  had  managed  to  be 
in  partners  with  them;  she  was  up  against  the 
great  fact  that  Candon  was  a  robber.  It  seemed 
impossible  to  her,  yet  he  said  so. 

"But  what  made  you  do  it?"  she  cried,  suddenly 
sitting  up  and  looking  straight  at  him. 

"I  didn't  start  to  do  it,"  said  he,  throwing  the 
unlit  pipe  beside  him  on  the  sand.  "All  the  same 
I  did  it,  and  I  '11  tell  you  how  it  was. ' '  He  sat  up 
and  holding  his  knees  started  to  talk,  telling  her 
the  whole  business. 

It  sounded  worse  than  when  he  told  Hank  and 
George,  for  he  gave  nothing  in  extenuation,  just 
the  hard  bricks.  But  hard  bricks  were  good 
enough  for  Tommie ;  she  could  build  better  with 
them  and  quicker  than  if  he  had  handed  her  out 
ornamental  tiles  to  be  inserted  at  given  positions. 

When  he  had  done  talking  and  when  she  had 
done  building  her  edifice  from  his  words,  she 
shook  her  head  over  it.  It  wasn't  straight.  In 
some  ways  it  pleased  her,  as,  for  instance,  the 
liquor  business.  She  had  sympathy  with  that,  but 
the  larceny  appealed  to  her  not  as  an  act  of  piracy 
but  theft.  T.  C.  would  have  been  smothered  in  a 
judge's  wig,  but  she  would  have  made  an  excellent 
judge  for  all  that.  Candon  was  now  clearly  before 
her,  the  man  and  his  actions ;  he  had  been  frank 


THE  CONFESSION  179 

as  day  with  her,  he  was  a  repentant  sinner,  and  to 
cap  all  he  had  saved  her,  at  all  events  in  intention, 
from  Chinese  slavers.  His  size  and  his  sailor 
simplicity  appealed  to  her. 

All  the  same,  her  sense  of  right  refused  to  be 
stirred  by  the  blue  eyes  of  Candon,  by  his  size, 
his  simplicity,  his  patent  daring,  by  the  something 
or  other  that  made  her  like  him  even  better  than 
Hank  or  George,  by  the  fact  that  he  had  carried 
her  off  on  his  shoulder  against  her  will  and  in  the 
face  of  destruction — and  absurdity. 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  it,"  said  Tommie. 
"I  don't  want  to  rub  it  in,  but  you  shouldn't. 
You  shouldn't  have  got  mixed  up  with  that 
McGinnis  crowd.  What  made  you?" 

"You've  put  your  finger  on  it,"  said  Candon. 
1 '  I  don 't  know  what  made  me.  Want  of  steering. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Tommie,  "you  wish  you  hadn't, 
don't  you?" 

"You  bet." 

"Well  then,  you're  half  out  of  the  hole.  D'you 
ever  say  your  prayers  ? ' ' 

'  *  Me !  no — ' '  Candon  laughed.  *  *  Lord,  no — I  've 
never  been  given  that  way." 

"Maybe  if  you  had  you  wouldn't  have  got  into 
this  hole — or  maybe  you  would.  No  telling, ' '  said 
Tommie.  "I'm  no  praying  beetle  myself,  but  I 
regularly  ask  the  Lord  for  protection.  You  want 
it  in  the  movies.  Dope  and  a  broken  neck  is  what 
I'm  afraid  of.  I  don't  mind  being  killed,  but  I 
don't  want  to  be  killed  suddenly  or  fall  for  cocaine 


180  VANDERDECKEN 

or  whisky,  the  way  some  do.  Well,  I  guess  work 
is  praying  sometimes  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  but 
you'll  have  some  praying  to  do  with  your  fists, 
getting  the  sand  off  that  stuff.  And  when  you've 
sent  it  back  to  its  owners,  you'll  have  prayed 
yourself  clear — that's  my  'pinion." 

"I've  got  something  else  to  tell  you,"  said 
Candon,  "I  reckon  you  don't  know  me  yet,  any- 
how you've  got  to  have  the  lot  now  I've  begun." 

"Spit  it  out,"  said  the  confessor,  a  bit  uneasy 
in  her  mind  at  this  new  development  and  the 
serious  tone  of  the  other. 

"I  told  the  boys  there  was  a  black  streak  in  me. 
And  there  is.  I  let  you  down." 

"Let  me  down?" 

"Yep.  D'you  remember  when  you  were  tinker- 
ing at  the  engine  that  day  the  calm  took  us?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  a  big  freighter  passed  within  hail  and 
I  let  her  go." 

"Well,  what  about  it?" 

"I  should  have  stopped  her  so  that  you  might 
have  got  back  to  'Frisco." 

"But  I  didn't  want  to  go  to  'Frisco." 

"Why,  you  said  the  day  we  first  had  you  on 
board  that  you  could  get  back  on  some  ship." 

"Oh,  did  I?  I'd  forgot— well,  I  wouldn't  have 
gone  in  the  freighter,  to  'Frisco  of  all  places." 

"I  didn't  know  that.  From  what  you  said  I 
should  have  stopped  her." 

"Why  didn't  you?" 


THE  CONFESSION  181 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  didn't  want  to  lose  you. 
Hank  and  me  didn't  want  you  to  go  off  and  leave 
us,  you'd  been  such  a  good  chum." 

"Well,  forget  it.  I  didn't  want  to  leave  you, 
either.  Not  me !  Why,  this  trip  is  the  best  holi- 
day I've  had  for  years.  If  that's  all  you  have  to 
bother  about,  forget  it. ' ' 

"There's  something  else,"  said  he.  "The 
McGinnis  crowd  is  pretty  sure  to  blow  along  down 
after  us  and  there'll  be  a  fight,  sure.  You  see, 
we're  held  here  by  that  sand;  that  will  give  them 
time  to  get  on  our  tracks." 

"If  they  come,  we'll  have  to  fight  them,"  said 
Tommie.  "But,  if  you  ask  me,  I  don't  think 
there's  much  fight  in  that  lot,  by  what  you  say  of 
them." 

"They're  toughs,  all  the  same.  I'm  telling 
you,  and  I  want  you  to  choose  right  now — we  can 
stay  here  and  risk  it,  or  push  out  and  away  back 
and  put  you  down  at  Santa  Barbara,  give  us  the 
word." 

Tommie  considered  deeply  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  said:  "I'm  not  afraid.  I  reckon  we  can 
match  them  if  it  comes  to  scratching.  No,  we'll 
stick.  You  see,  there's  two  things — you  can't  put 
me  back  in  Santa  Barbara  without  the  whole  of 
this  business  coming  out  and  Hank  Fisher  and 
Bud  du  Cane  being  guyed  to  death.  Your  ship  is 
known,  Althusen  and  that  lot  will  give  evidence — 
you  can't  put  me  back  out  of  the  Wear  Jack  any- 
how." 


182  VANDERDECKEX 

"Then  how  are  you  to  get  back!"  asked  Candon. 

"I've  been  trying  to  think  that  long  enough," 
said  Tommie.  "You  remember  the  rat  in  the 
flower  pot — something  or  another  will  turn  up, 
or  I'll  have  to  do  some  more  thinking." 

"Do  you  know  what  I'm  thinking?"  asked 
Candon.  "I'm  thinking  there's  not  many  would 
stick  this  out  just  to  save  a  couple  of  men  from 
being  guyed." 

"Maybe — I  don't  know.  Anyhow  the  other 
thing  is  I  want  to  see  the  end  of  this  business  and 
that  stuff  got  out  of  the  sand  and  handed  back  to 
its  owners.  Lord,  can't  you  see?  If  we  turned 
back  now  we'd  be  quitters,  and  I  don't  know 
what  you'd  do  with  yourself;  but  I  tell  you  what 
I'd  do  with  myself,  I'd  take  to  making  lace  for  a 
living — or  go  as  mother's  help — paugh !" 

"God!"  said  Candon,  "give  me  your  fist." 

Tommie  held  out  her  fist  and  they  shook 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

HANK 

HANK,  as  before  mentioned,  was  a  man  of 
resource;  there  was  nothing  much  he 
could  not  do  with  his  hands  backed  by  his 
head.  In  two  hours  on  board  the  Wear  Jack  he 
had  found  the  materials  for  and  constructed  three 
tent  poles ;  in  the  sail  room,  and  by  sacrificing  the 
awning,  he  had  obtained  the  necessary  canvas; 
ropes  and  pegs  evolved  themselves  from  nowhere 
as  if  by  magic.  Then  in  some  way,  and  from  the 
interior  of  the  Wear  Jack,  he  managed  to  get 
planking,  not  much,  but  enough  for  his  purpose. 
Whilst  he  worked  on  these  matters,  George  super- 
intended the  removal  of  stores,  bully  beef,  canned 
tomatoes,  canned  kippered  herrings,  biscuits, 
butter,  tea,  condensed  milk,  rice.  He  sent  two 
Chinks  ashore  with  a  boat-load;  then,  when  they 
came  back,  the  rest  of  the  stuff  was  loaded  into 
the  boat,  together  with  the  tent  poles  and  canvas 
and  blankets.  Last  came  a  small  bundle  contain- 
ing Tommie's  night  things  and  tooth  brush.  Then 
they  pushed  off. 

Candon  helped  in  the  unloading  of  the  boat  and 
then  they  set  to  raising  the  tents. 

183 


184  VANDERDECKEN 

In  this  section  of  the  bay  there  were  two  breaks 
in  the  line  of  cliffs,  a  north  and  a  south  break. 
Hank  drew  the  line  of  the  tents  between  the 
breaks  and  at  right  angles  to  the  cliffs,  so  as  to 
escape,  as  much  as  possible,  the  hot  land  wind 
when  it  blew.  Also  he  put  a  long  distance  between 
each  tent.  Tommie's  was  nearest  the  cliffs,  the 
Chinks'  nearest  the  sea.  By  sunset  the  canvas 
was  up,  a  fire  lit,  a  beaker  filled  with  fresh  water 
from  the  issue  in  the  cliff  and  the  stores  piled  to 
leeward  of  the  middle  tent.  Hank  had  even 
brought  mosquito  netting  and  a  plan  for  using 
it  in  the  tents.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
nothing,  till  Tommie  opened  her  bundle. 

"Where's  my  book?"  asked  Tommie. 

" Blest  if  I  haven't  forgot  it!"  cried  Hank. 
' ' Chucklehead — say!  I'll  put  off  right  now  and 
fetch  it." 

"Oh,  it'll  wait,"  said  the  other.  "I  guess  I'll 
be  busy  enough  for  a  while  not  to  want  books.  You 
can  fetch  it  tomorrow." 

If  Hank  had  known  the  consequences  of  delay, 
he  would  have  fetched  it  there  and  then,  but  he 
didn't.  He  went  to  attend  to  the  fire.  The  fire 
was  built  of  dry  seaweed,  bits  of  a  broken-up 
packing  case  and  fragments  of  wreck  wood,  and 
when  the  kettle  was  boiled  over  it  and  tea  made, 
the  sun  had  set  and  the  stars  were  looking  down 
on  the  beach. 

After  supper  Tommie  went  off  to  her  tent, 
leaving  the  men  to  smoke.  The  two  Chinks,  who 


HANK  185 

liad  built  a  microscopic  fire  of  their  own,  were 
seated  close  to  it  talking,  maybe  of  China  and 
home.  The  wind  had  died  out  and  through  the 
warm  night  the  sound  of  the  waves  all  down  the 
beach  came  like  a  lullaby. 

Hank  was  giving  his  ideas  of  how  they  should 
start  in  the  morning  attacking  the  sand,  when 
Candon,  who  had  been  smoking  silently,  suddenly 
cut  in. 

"I've  told  her,"  said  Candon. 

"What  you  say?"  asked  Hank. 

"I've  told  her  all  about  myself  and  who  I  am, 
and  the  chances,  told  her  when  you  chaps  went 
off  for  the  stores.  Told  her  it's  possible  McGinnis 
may  light  down  on  us  before  wre've  done,  seeing 
the  work  before  us  on  that  sand,  and  there'll  may- 
be be  fighting  she  oughtn't  to  be  mixed  up  in." 

"B'  gosh!"  said  Hank.  "I  never  thought  of 
that.  What  did  she  say?" 

"Oh,  she  said,  'Let  him  come.'  Wouldn't  listen 
to  anything  about  turning  back,  said  we'd  be 
quitters  if  we  dropped  it  now." 

"Lord,  she's  a  peach." 

"She's  more  than  that,"  said  Candon.  "Well, 
I'm  going  for  a  breather  before  turning  in."  He 
tapped  his  pipe  out  and,  rising,  walked  off  down 
along  the  sea  edge. 

George  laughed.  He  was  laughing  at  the  size 
of  Candon  compared  to  the  size  of  Tommie,  and 
the  quaint  idea  that  had  suddenly  come  to  him, 


186  VANDERDECKEN 

the  idea  that  Candon  had  suddenly  become  gone 
on  her. 

George  could  view  the  matter  in  a  detached 
way,  for  though  T.  C.  appealed  to  him  as  an 
individual,  he  scarcely  considered  her  as  a  girl. 

A  lot  of  little  signs  and  symptoms  collected 
themselves  together  in  his  head,  capped  by  the 
tone  of  those  words,  "She's  more  than  that." 
Yes,  it  was  highly  probable  that  the  heart  punch 
had  come  to  B.  C.  Why  not?  Tommie  as  an 
anchor  wasn't  much,  as  far  as  size  went,  yet  as 
far  as  character  and  heart — who  could  tell?  All 
the  indications  were  in  her  favour. 

"She's  a  peach,"  murmured  Hank,  half  aloud, 
half  to  himself. 

Hullo,  thought  George,  has  old  Hank  gone  bug- 
house on  her  too!  Then  aloud:  "You  mean 
Tommie?" 

"Yep." 

"Oh,  she's  not  so  bad." 

"And  I  went  and  forgot  her  book!  Bud,  d'you 
remember  to-day,  when  we  were  all  standing  like 
a  lot  of  lost  hoodlums,  going  to  turn  our  backs 
on  this  proposition,  and  the  way  she  yanked  us 
round?  It  came  on  me  then." 

"What?" 

"I  dunno.    Bud,  say — " 

"Yes?" 

"She's  great.  It  came  on  me  to-day  like  a  belt 
on  the  head  with  a  sandbag.  It  came  to  me  before. 
Remember  the  day  she  was  first  aboard  and 


HANK  187 

wouldn't  put  back,  wanting  to  save  our  faces? 
Well,  that  hit  me,  but  the  jaw  punch  got  me  to-day, 
and  just  now  when  she  trundled  off  to  her  tent, 
lugging  that  blanket  behind  her,  I  seemed  to  get 
one  in  the  solar  plexus  that  near  sent  me  through 
the  ropes.  Bud,  I'm  on  my  back,  being  counted 
out." 

"Oh,  talk  sense,"  said  Bud.  "We've  too  much 
work  on  hand  to  be  carrying  on  with  girls.  Tie  a 
knot  in  it,  Hank,  till  we're  clear  of  this  place, 
anyhow.  Besides  it's  ten  to  one  there's  some 
other  chap  after  her. ' ' 

A  form  loomed  up  coming  towards  them.  It 
was  Candon. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  SAND 

AT  seven  the  next  morning  the  digging  began. 
At  six,  when  Hank  turned  out  of  the  tent, 
the  aspect  of  the  beach  had  changed.  A 
north  wind,  rising  before  midnight,  had  blown 
steadily  and  strongly  unheard  and  unheeded  by 
the  snoring  sleepers  in  the  tents.  It  died  out 
after  dawn. 

Hank  called  George  to  look.  Here  and  there 
away  across  the  sands  white  spots  were  visible, 
some  like  the  tops  of  gigantic  mushrooms.  One 
quite  close  to  them  showed  as  the  top  of  a  whale's 
skull.  Further  on  a  huge  rib  hinted  of  itself. 
There  were  little  sand-drifts  on  the  windward  side 
of  the  tents. 

"Wind's  been  shifting  the  sand,"  said  George, 
' l  it 's  all  over  me. ' '  His  hair  was  full  of  sand  and 
his  pockets.  Hank  was  in  the  same  condition. 
Tommie  came  out  of  her  tent  blinking  at  the  sun. 

"Say,  I'm  all  sand,"  cried  Tommie. 

"Wind's  been  blowing,"  said  Hank;  "look  at 
the  bones." 

The  sand  seemed  lower  over  the  cache. 

188 


THE  SAND  189 

Candon  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  it  was  at 
least  a  foot  lower.  Then  without  more  ado  they 
began  to  dig,  using  the  two  spades  and  one  of  the 
shovels  improvised  by  Hank. 

Candon,  Hank  and  one  of  the  Chinks  were  the 
diggers.  They  had  divided  themselves  into  two 
gangs,  George,  Tommie,  and  the  other  Chink 
forming  the  second  gang;  and  they,  having  seen 
the  work  started,  went  off  to  prepare  breakfast. 

After  breakfast  they  started  again,  working  in 
two  shifts  of  half  an  hour  each,  and  keeping  it 
up  till  eleven.  Then  they  knocked  off,  fagged  out 
but  somehow  happy.  The  middle  of  the  day  was 
too  hot  for  work  and  after  dinner  they  slept  till 
three,  knocking  off  finally  somewhere  about  six. 
A  hole  ten  feet  broad  from  north  to  south,  eight 
feet  from  east  to  west,  and  nearly  three  feet  deep 
was  the  result  of  their  work,  the  excavated  stuff 
being  banked  north  and  south,  so  that  if  the  wind 
blew  up  from  either  quarter,  there  would  be  less 
drift  of  sand  into  the  hole.  Hank  watered  these 
banks  as  far  as  he  could  with  water  from  the 
spring  in  the  cliff  to  make  the  sand  "stay  put"; 
then  they  went  off  to  supper. 

T.  C.  had  worked  in  her  way  as  hard  as  any  of 
them,  taking  as  a  sort  of  personal  insult  any 
suggestion  that  she  was  overdoing  herself.  Dog- 
tired  now,  she  was  seated  on  the  sand  by  the 
middle  tent  reading  an  old  Chicago  Tribune  that 
George  had  brought  ashore,  whilst  the  others 
prepared  supper. 


190  VANDERDECKEN 

"Lord,"  said  Hank,  as  he  knelt  building  up  the 
fire.  "If  I  haven't  forgot  to  send  for  your  book." 
He  looked  towards  the  boat  on  the  beach  and  half 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"I'm  not  wanting  it,"  said  Tommie.  "This  is 
good  enough  for  me,  I'm  too  tired  for  books — 
tea's  what  I  want." 

She  dived  into  the  paper  again,  emerging  when 
supper  was  announced  with  the  gist  of  an  article 
on  the  League  of  Nations  between  her  teeth. 
T.  C.  had  strong  political  opinions,  and  her  own 
ideas  about  the  League  of  Nations.  She  did  not 
favour  the  League  and  said  so. 

Hank,  opening  a  can  of  salmon  and  hit  in  his 
ideals,  forgot  it,  waved  it  in  the  air  and  started 
to  do  battle  with  Tommie.  That  was  Hank  all 
over;  heart-punched,  lying  on  his  back  with 
Cupid  counting  him  out,  he  saw  for  a  moment 
only  the  banner  of  universal  peace  and  brother- 
hood waving  above  him. 

"But  it  isn't  so,"  cried  Hank.  "There's  no 
Monroe  doctrines  in  morality.  America  can't  sit 
scratching  herself  when  others  are  up  and  doing. 
Why  the  nations  have  got  war  down,  down,  right 
now,  kicking  under  the  blanket,  and  it  only  wants 
America  to  sit  on  her  head  to  keep  her  down." 

"America's  got  to  be  strong  before  she  does 
anything,"  fired  Tommie.  "How's  she  to  be 
strong  if  a  lot  of  foreigners  sitting  in  Geneva 
can  tell  her  to  do  this  or  that?  "Why  they'd  cut 
her  fists  off." 


THE  SAND  191 

"Strong,"  cried  Hank.  "Why  armies  and 
navies  aren't  strength.  Love  of  man  for  man — " 

"Mean  to  tell  me  you  could  love  Turks?" 

"Ain't  talking  of  Turks." 

"Greeks  then  —  Portugueses  —  say,  tell  me 
straight — do  you  love  niggers?" 

The  sight  of  Tommie  "het  up"  and  with  spark- 
ling eyes  gave  the  struggling  hero  such  another 
heart  punch  that  he  collapsed,  lost  sight  of  the 
banner  of  brotherhood  and  went  on  opening  the 
can  of  salmon. 

"Maybe  I'm  wrong  and  maybe  you're  right," 
said  he,  "it's  a  big  question.  Pass  me  that  plate, 
will  you,  Bud?" 

Candon  had  said  nothing.  He  had  deserted 
his  co-idealist  like  a  skunk,  and  seemed  engaged 
in  re-reviewing  the  League  of  Nations  by  the  light 
of  Tommie. 

Half  an  hour  after  supper  the  whole  lot  of 
them  were  snoring  in  their  tents,  pole-axed  by 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

STRANGERS  ON  THE  BEACH 

NEXT  day  passed  in  labour,  another  two  feet 
being  added  to  the  depth. 
At  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  after  as 
the    Tommie-Chink-Bud    shift    were    taking    on 
digging,  Hank,  shaking  sand  from  his  clothes, 
called  out  to  the  others  to  look. 

Down  from  the  southern  defile  in  the  cliffs  a 
small  procession  was  coming  on  to  the  beach. 
First  came  a  man  in  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  then 
another  leading  a  mule,  and  another  following 
after. 

"Mexicans,"  said  George. 

"Sure,"  said  Hank.  "Look!  they've  seen  us, 
they've  stopped,  now  they're  going  on,  right  down 
to  the  sea  edge.  Wonder  what  they're  after?" 

The  Mexicans,  having  reached  the  sea  edge, 
began  to  wander  along  it  coming  in  the  direction 
of  the  tents.  Every  now  and  then  they  stopped 
to  gather  something. 

"Seaweed,"  said  Hank.  "Look,  they  are  shov- 
ing it  into  a  sack  on  the  mule." 

"Well,  come  on,"  said  Tommie.  She  jumped 
into  the  sand  pit  and  began  to  dig,  Bud  and  the 

192 


STRANGERS  ON  THE  BEACH  193 

Chink  following  her.  Hank  rolling  a  cigarette, 
sat  down  and  watched  the  seaweed  gatherers. 

The  tide  was  half  out  and  they  were  following 
it,  walking  along  the  extreme  edge  of  the  water. 
Then  he  saw  them  stop  and  take  something  from 
the  mule's  back. 

"Shovels,"  said  Hank  to  himself.  As  chief 
engineer  of  the  business,  Hank,  from  the  first,  had 
been  impressed  by  the  fact  that  the  deeper  they 
went  the  harder  the  work  would  be,  simply 
because  the  sand  had  to  be  flung  out  of  the  pit. 
The  first  few  feet  in  depth  it  was  easy  enough, 
but  the  depth  already  gained  was  beginning  to 
tell,  and  the  banks  of  excavated  stuff  to  north  and 
south  made  matters  worse  by  increasing  the 
height  over  which  the  sand  had  to  be  flung. 

"B.  C. !"  suddenly  cried  Hank,  springing  to 
his  feet.  "Shovels!" 

Candon,  who  was  lying  on  his  back  with  his  hat 
over  his  face,  resting  for  a  moment,  sat  up. 

Hank  was  gone,  running  full  speed  and  whoop- 
ing as  he  ran. 

He  reached  the  sea  edge  and  caught  up  with 
the  beach-combers  who  were  digging  for  huge 
clams  just  when  a  bank  of  sand  and  mud  touched 
the  true  sand.  Close  to  them  now,  they  showed 
up  as  three  tanned,  lean,  hard-bitten  individuals, 
carrying  big  satisfactory  heart-shaped  Mexican 
shovels,  and  looking  all  nerves  and  sinews,  with 
faces  expressionless  as  the  face  of  the  mule  that 
stood  by  with  its  two  sacks  bulging,  one  evidently 


194  VANDERDECKEN 

with  provender,  the  other  with  gathered  sea-weed. 

"Hi,  you  jossers,"  cried  Hank,  "want  a  job, 
hey  ?  Mucho  plenty  dollars,  dig  for  Americanos. ' ' 
He  made  movements  as  of  digging  and  pointed 
towards  the  sand  hole. 

"No  intende,"  replied  the  tallest  of  the  three. 

1  *  Come  on, ' '  said  Hank,  taking  the  long  man  by 
the  arm  and  leading  the  way.  He  had  remembered 
that  Candon  said  he  could  talk  Spanish. 

The  others  were  all  out  of  the  sand  hole  watch- 
ing, and  halfway  up  Candon  and  George  joined 
Hank. 

"Here's  your  dredging  machine,"  cried  Hank. 
"Look  at  the  shovels,  ain't  they  lovely?  Get  at 
them,  B.  C.,  and  ask  their  terms." 

Candon  spoke  with  the  long  man,  seeming  to 
explain  matters. 

"Five  dollars  a  day  each,"  said  Candon. 
"They  say  they'll  work  all  day  for  that." 

"Fifteen  dollars,"  said  Hank.  "Take  'em  on, 
it's  cheap.  We  can  get  rid  of  them  before  we 
strike  the  stuff,  take  'em  on  for  one  day,  anyhow. ' ' 

Candon  concluded  the  bargain.  Then  he  led 
the  beach-combers  to  the  hole  and  explained 
matters.  They  understood,  then,  having^consulted 
together  like  experts,  they  took  the  matter  into 
their  own  hands,  asking  only  that  the  others 
should  set  to  work  and  remove  the  banks  of  refuse 
to  north  and  south  of  the  hole. 

"Well,"  said  Hank  as  they  sat  at  dinner  that 
day,  "give  me  Mexicans  for  work.  A  raft  of 


STRANGERS  ON  THE  BEACH  195 

niggers  couldn't  have  moved  the  dirt  quicker 'n 
those  chaps.  Why,  we'll  be  down  to  bed  rock  by 
to-night." 

"I  gingered  them  up,"  said  Candon,  "told  them 
if  they  got  down  to  what  I  wanted  to  find  by 
tonight,  I'd  give  them  ten  dollars  extra  apiece. 
But  they  won't  do  it." 

By  six  o'clock  that  evening,  however,  the  job 
was  nearly  done.  Candon  reckoned  that  only  a 
few  hours  more  work  would  find  the  stuff,  unless 
a  heavy  wind  blew  up  in  the  night  and  spoiled 
things. 

He  paid  the  hired  men  off  with  dollars  supplied 
by  George  and  then  they  sat  down  to  supper,  the 
beach-combers  camping  near  by  and  having  the 
time  of  their  lives  with  canned  salmon,  ships 
bread  and  peaches  supplied  for  nothing. 

Tommie  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  mule.  It 
had  eaten  half  a  Chicago  Tribune  blowing  about 
on  the  sands  and  she  was  feeding  it  now  with 
wafers,  which  the  brute  took  in  a  gingerly  and 
delicate  manner,  as  though  chicken  and  asparagus 
had  been  its  up-bringing,  instead  of  old  gasoline 
cans  and  esparto  grass. 

"She's  made  friends  with  that  mule,"  said 
George. 

"She's  made  friends  with  Satan,"  said  Hank. 
"Look  at  her  talking  to  those  greasers  as  if  she 
knew  their  lingo." 

"She's  making  them  laugh,"  said  Candon. 


196  VANDERDECKEN 

An  hour  after  supper  the  beach  was  at  peace. 
Even  the  mule  had  fallen  into  the  frame  of  the 
picture. 

It  was  lying  down  by  its  sleeping  masters. 
Away  out  across  the  water,  the  amber  light  of  the 
Wear  Jack  showed  beneath  the  stars. 

An  hour  passed.  Then  things  changed.  The 
mule  was  lying  dreaming,  maybe,  of  more  wafers, 
and  in  the  starlight,  like  shadows,  the  forms  of 
the  three  Mexicans,  each  with  a  shovel  over  its 
shoulder,  were  passing  towards  the  sand-hole. 


CHAPTEK  XXXI 

* '  TOMMIB  'S  GONE  I ' ' 

OIJSE  UP»  Hank!" 

Hank,  snoring  on  his  back,  flung  out 
bis  arms,  opened  his  eyes,  yawned  and 
stared  at  the  beautiful  blazing  morning  visible 
through  the  tent  opening. 

"Lord!  it's  good  to  be  alive!"  said  Hank.  He 
dressed  and  came  out. 

Candon  was  tinkering  at  the  fire.  The  mule, 
on  its  feet  now,  was  standing,  whilst  Tommie  was 
feeding  it  with  dried  grass  taken  from  the  prov- 
ender bag,  the  Mexicans,  sitting  like  tired  men, 
were  smoking  cigarettes,  whilst  the  four  mile 
beach  sang  to  the  crystal  waves  and  the  white 
gulls  laughed. 

It  was  a  pretty  picture. 

Tommie  came  running  to  the  heap  of  stores  by 
the  middle  tent,  chose  a  couple  of  tins,  wrapped 
up  some  biscuits  in  a  bit  of  newspaper  and  pre- 
sented the  lot  to  the  Mexicans. 

"They  look  so  tired,"  said  she,  as  they  sat  down 
to  breakfast. 

"Well  they  ought  to  be,"  said  Hank,  "seeing 

197 


198  VANDERDECKEN 

the  way  they've  been  digging.  Boys,  I  reckon 
they  ought  to  have  a  bonus." 

"They've  had  fifteen  dollars,"  said  the  prac- 
tical George,  "and  their  grub." 

"Maybe,"  said  Hank,  "but  they've  done  fifty 
dollars'  worth  of  work,  seeing  how  we're  placed. 
I  vote  we  give  them  five  dollars  extra." 

"I'm  with  you,"  said  Candon. 

"Ten,"  said  Tommie. 

"I've  only  a  ten  dollar  bill  left  on  me,"  said 
George.  "Don't  matter,  give  it  to  them." 

Tommie  took  the  note  and,  leaving  her  break- 
fast, tripped  over  to  the  Mexicans.  Then  she 
came  back. 

Half  an  hour  later,  armed  only  with  the  spades 
and  Hank's  improvised  shovel,  they  set  to  work. 

"Let's  borrow  the  greasers'  shovels,"  said 
George. 

"I'd  rather  not,"  said  Candon,  "they'll  be 
going  off  the  beach  soon,  and  I'd  rather  they 
weren't  here  when  we  strike  the  stuff,  we'll  be 
soon  on  it  now." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  sand?"  asked 
Hank  as  he  contemplated  the  floor  of  the  hole. 
"Looks  as  if  it  had  been  beaten  down  with  a 
shovel." 

"Shovel — nothing — "  said  George,  "it's  their 
flat  feet,  come  on ! " 

By  half  past  eleven  o'clock,  Candon  reckoned 
that  the  depth  required  had  been  reached  if  not 
passed. 


"TOMMIE'S  GONE!"  199 

"We'll  get  it  this  evening,"  said  he,  "as  sure's 
my  name's  Bob  Candon." 

"Hope  so,"  said  George. 

As  they  turned  to  the  tents  for  dinner  and 
siesta,  they  found  that  the  Mexicans  were  still  on 
the  beach  a  bit  to  the  southward,  strolling  along 
by  the  sea  edge.  Then  they  came  back  northwards. 

"I  wish  those  greasers  would  go,"  said  George. 

When  they  turned  in  for  the  mid-day  siesta, 
the  beach-combers  seemed  to  have  made  a  little 
camp  for  the  purpose  of  rest  and  cigarette  smok- 
ing half-way  between  the  sea  edge  and  the 
southern  defile  in  the  cliffs. 

George  slept,  at  first  the  sleep  of  the  just,  then 
began  the  sleep  of  canned  kippered  herrings  and 
80°  in  the  shade.  Tyrebuck  was  buried  alive 
somewhere  on  the  beach  and  they  were  trying  to 
locate  him  without  treading  on  him ;  then,  having 
seemingly  given  up  this  quest,  they  were  seated 
playing  cards  with  Hank's  late  partner,  the  lady 
who  could  put  a  whole  potato  in  her  mouth.  They 
were  playing  a  new  sort  of  game  which  the  ingen- 
ious Hank  had  invented  and  which  he  called  Back 
to  Front.  That  is  to  say  they  were  holding  their 
cards  so  that  each  player  could  only  see  the  backs 
of  his  own  hand  and  the  fronts  of  his  partner's 
hand.  It  was  bridge,  moreover,  and  they  were 
playing  for  potato  points.  How  long  this  ex- 
tremely intellectual  game  lasted,  it  is  impossible 
to  say.  It  was  suddenly  interrupted. 


200  VANDERDECKEN 

Hank  outside  the  tent  had  seized  his  foot  and 
seemed  trying  to  pull  his  leg  off. 

"Come  out!"  cried  Hank.    "She's  gone!" 

"Gone!    Who's  gone!" 

"Tommie.    They've  stolen  her." 

Candon,  already  awakened  and  out,  was  run- 
ning around  looking  at  the  sand  as  if  hunting  her 
foot  steps. 

The  raving  Hank  explained  that,  unable  to 
sleep,  he  had  come  out  and  found  the  Mexicans 
gone.  Some  premonition  of  evil  had  made  him 
glance  at  Tommie's  tent  opening.  Not  being  able 
to  see  her,  he  looked  closer.  She  was  gone.  They 
had  stolen  her. 

"After  them!"  cried  George. 

Aroused  from  a  fantastic  dream  he  found  him- 
self faced  with  something  almost  equally  fantastic. 
The  size  of  Tommie  made  a  lot  of  things  possible. 
Visions  of  her,  captured  and  strangled  and  stuffed 
into  one  of  the  bags  on  the  mule's  back,  rose 
before  him,  though  why  or  for  what  purpose  the 
greasers  should  commit  such  an  act  was  not  clear. 

The  going  was  hard  over  the  sand  till  they 
reached  the  defile  in  the  cliffs  towards  which  the 
mule  tracks  seemed  to  lead.  Here  the  way  led 
gently  uphill  over  broken  rocky  ground  till  they 
reached  a  low  plateau  where,  under  the  unchang- 
ing sunlight,  the  landscape  lay  spread  in  humps 
and  hollows  to  the  hills  away  to  the  east.  Rock, 
sagebrush  and  sand,  cactus,  sand,  sagebrush,  it 
lay  before  them;  but  of  Tommie,  the  mule  or  her 


VTOMMIE'S  GONE!"  201 

captors,  there  was  no  trace  or  sign.  The  sand 
here  was  no  use  for  tracking  purposes,  it  was 
beach  sand  blown  up  by  west  winds  and  lay  only  in 
places,  rock  was  the  true  floor,  rock  rising  some- 
times six  feet  in  camel  humps  obstructing  the 
view. 

Oandon  climbed  one  of  these  kopjes,  shaded  his 
eyes  and  looked.  Then  he  gave  a  shout. 

"Got  'em,"  cried  Candon,  "right  ahead.  After 
me,  boys!" 

He  came  tumbling  down  and  started  at  full 
speed,  taking  a  track  that  led  due  east  between 
the  hillocks,  till,  rounding  a  boulder,  away  ahead 
of  them,  they  saw  the  mule  and  its  companions 
slowly  winding  their  way  in  a  south-easterly 
direction — but  not  a  trace  of  Tommie. 

They  closed  up  rapidly,  the  Mexicans  turned 
at  the  shout  of  Hank,  then,  as  if  a  bomb  shell  had 
burst  amongst  them,  they  scattered,  leaving  the 
mule  to  its  fate  and  running  south,  sou 'east  and 
east. 

"Mule  first,"  cried  Hank. 

Through  the  canvas  of  the  great  bulging  sack 
of  sea-weed  on  the  mule's  back,  he  could  see  the 
small  corpse  of  Tommie,  strangled,  maybe, 
doubled  up,  done  for. 

The  mule,  left  to  itself,  had  begun  to  feed  on  a 
patch  of  grass  as  tough  looking  as  bow-string 
hemp.  It  cocked  an  eye  at  the  oncomers  and 
continued  feeding  till  they  got  close  up  to  it. 

"Look  out!"  yelled  Hank. 


202  VANDERDECKEN 

The  heels  of  the  brute  had  missed  him  by  inches. 

They  scattered,  picking  up  rocks  by  instinct 
and  instinctively  planning  and  carrying  out  their 
attack  without  word  of  common  counsel.  It  was 
the  primitive  man,  no  doubt,  aroused  by  rage; 
at  all  events  the  mule,  mechanically  grazing,  got, 
next  moment,  a  whack  on  its  rump  with  a  rock 
that  made  it  squeal  and  wheel  only  to  get  another 
on  its  flank.  It  flung  its  heels  up  as  if  trying  to 
kick  heaven. 

"Stand  clear,"  cried  Hank.  The  sack,  prov- 
ender and  shovels  had  fallen  to  the  ground  and 
the  mule,  seeing  an  open  course  and  impelled  by 
another  rock,  was  off. 

Hank  flung  himself  on  the  sack.  There  was  no 
Tommie  in  it,  only  seaweed.  Candon,  recognising 
this,  made  off,  running  after  the  Mexicans,  but 
something  was  protruding  from  the  provender 
bag  that  was  not  provender.  Hank  pulled  it  out. 
It  was  a  parcel  done  up  in  oil  cloth  and  tied 
clumsily  with  tarred  string. 

"Lord!"  cried  George.    "The  boodle!" 

The  shock  of  the  discovery  almost  made  them 
forget  Tommie  for  a  moment. 

"Hounds,"  said  Hank.  "They  must  have  been 
digging  last  night  after  we  turned  in." 

"And  they've  opened  it,"  said  George.  "Look 
at  the  way  it's  tied  up  again — and  that  knot's  a 
granny.  Oh,  damn!  What's  the  use  of  bothering? 
We  haven't  got  her.  Hank,  clutch  a  hold  of  the 


"TOMMIE'S  GONE!"  203 

damned  thing  and  hide  it  somewhere  and  come  on. 
Scatter  and  hunt." 

Candon  had  made  off  due  east.  They  heard  his 
voice  shouting,  ''Hi,  there,  hi  there!  Tommie! 
Ahoy  there!"  Then  Hank,  throwing  the  parcel 
at  the  foot  of  a  prominent  upstanding  rock,  made 
off  south  and  Bud  north. 

The  eagle  of  the  Simaloa  hills,  having  fed  its 
young  that  morning,  had  returned  to  its  watch 
tower  and  from  there  she  saw  the  hunt.  She  saw 
Hank  overtaking  and  kicking  a  Mexican,  Bud 
chasing  another  Mexican,  Candon  pursuing  a 
third.  Philosophising,  perhaps,  on  the  craziness 
of  human  beings,  she  saw  the  chase  of  the 
Mexicans  relinquished  and  the  pursuers  each  now 
seemingly  in  pursuit  of  something  else. 

An  hour  later  Hank,  returning  to  the  rock 
where  he  had  flung  the  bundle,  found  Bud. 

"She's  not  here,"  said  Hank,  "but  she  can't 
be  anywhere  else — I'm  done — there's  nothing  for 
it  but  to  hike  back  and  get  all  the  Chinks  and  comb 
this  place.  It's  not  the  Mexicans.  She's  maybe 
wandered  out  here  alone  and  fallen  off  a  rock  or 
into  a  hole  or  got  sunstroke.  Come  on  and  fetch 
the  Chinks." 

"Where's  B.  C.f" 

"I  dunno.  Chasing  away  there  somewhere — 
come  on." 

He  caught  up  the  bundle  and  they  started,  the 
most  dejected  pair  of  human  beings  in  Mexico  at 
that  moment.  They  couldn't  speak.  They  came 


204.  VANDERDECKEN 

through  the  defile  in  the  cliffs  and  there  on  the 
sands  lay  the  new  beached  boat,  and  on  the  sands 
the  tents,  and  half  in  and  out  of  her  tent,  sitting 
with  her  head  in  the  shade  and  her  feet  in  the  sun, 
Tommie  reading  a  book. 

Hank  dropped  the  bundle  and  ran  towards  her, 
shouting  as  he  ran  and  waving  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  RETURN  OF  CANDON" 

BUD  saw  her  spring  up,  evidently  fancying 
some  danger  was  upon  them,  then  he  saw 
Hank  seizing  her  and  jumping  her  round 
in  a  sort  of  dance. 

When  he  reached  them,  Plank  had  flung  himself 
down  on  the  sand  and  was  laughing. 

"He's  gone  crazy,"  said  Tommie,  laughing 
despite  herself.  "Where  on  earth  you  been?" 

"Been!"  cried  George.  "Hunting  Mexico  for 
you,  thinking  you  were  lost.  Where  have  you 
been?" 

"Me — only  to  get  my  book.  I  took  the  boat 
when  you  two  were  asleep  and  I  got  back  here  a 
few  minutes  ago  and  found  you  all  gone." 

"Well,"  said  Bud,  sitting  down  on  the  sand. 
"I  was  asleep  when  Hank  pulled  me  out  by  the 
leg,  saying  you  were  gone  and  the  Mexicans  had 
stolen  you,  then  we  all  started  off  to  chase  them 
and  hunt  for  you." 

"But  didn't  you  see  the  boat  was  gone?"  asked 
she. 

"I  only  saw  you  were  gone,"  said  Hank,  "and 
the  Mexicans." 


206  VANDERDECKEN 

"Hank  told  us  they'd  boned  you  and  made  off 
with  you,"  put  in  George.  "I  took  it  for  gospel 
and  started  right  off." 

Hank  snorted.  "What  else  was  a  body  to  think. 
It  gets  me.  Say,  people,  what's  wrong  with  this 
cruise  anyhow.  Look  at  it." 

The  idea  that  his  own  frightful  imagination 
had  not  only  launched  the  whole  expedition,  but 
had  dragged  Tommie  in,  broken  up  a  picture  show 
and  wrecked  a  junk,  to  say  nothing  of  the  latter 
business,  never  dawned  on  him  or  his  companions, 
nor  the  premonition  that  his  imagination  had  not 
done  with  them  yet. 

"Where's  B.  C.f"  asked  Tommie  suddenly. 

"Hunting  away  still,"  replied  George. 

"What's  in  that  bundle?" 

"Oh,  the  bundle — why  it's  the  boodle;  the 
greasers  must  have  dug  it  up,  for  we  found  it  in 
the  sack  on  the  mule." 

"The  jewels!" 

"Yep." 

"My!"  said  Tommie,  her  eyes  wide  and  the 
colour  coming  to  her  cheeks.  "Why  didn't  you 
tell  me?"  She  seized  on  it. 

"I'll  help,"  said  Hank,  "you'll  dirty  your 
fingers  with  the  string." 

"Bother  my  fingers." 

She  had  the  string  off  and  then,  unwrapping 
the  oilskin  cover,  came  on  sack  cloth.  Opening 
this  unskilfully  the  whole  contents  shot  out  on  her 
knees  and  the  sand.  Diamond  rings,  ten  silver 


THE  RETURN  OF  CANDON  207 

spoons,  a  diamond  necklace,  blazing,  huge  and 
vulgar,  a  diamond  hair  ornament  like  a  tiara,  a 
ring  set  with  rubies,  another  with  emeralds,  a 
woman's  wrist  watch  set  with  diamonds,  and  a 
silver  pepper  pot.  Twenty  or  thirty  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  plunder,  at  least,  and  shouting 
with  individuality.  One  could  see  the  fat  woman 
who  once  wore  the  necklace  and  tiara,  almost; 
no  wonder  that  the  pirates  had  determined  to  give 
them  a  year  to  cool  amidst  the  sands  of  the  Bay 
of  Whales. 

"My!"  said  Tommie  again,  her  eyes  glittering 
as  she  gathered  the  things  together  carefully, 
spread  the  sack  cloth  and  put  them  out. 

She  brooded  on*them  without  another  word, 
picking  them  up  one  by  one,  trying  the  rings  on, 
holding  up  the  necklace  for  all  to  admire,  even 
the  Chinks,  who  had  drawn  close  and  who  seemed 
to  understand  that  these  were  the  things  for  which 
they  had  been  digging. 

Then  she  put  the  lot  on  for  fun,  the  tiara  that 
nearly  came  over  her  ears,  the  necklace  that 
nearly  came  down  to  her  waist,  the  rings  that 
hung  loose  on  her  fingers.  Then,  making  a  fan 
out  of  an  old  piece  of  paper,  she  got  up  and 
promenaded  the  sands,  gathering  up  imaginary 
skirts  and  looking  disdain  upon  her  recent  friends, 
till  even  the  Chinks  laughed. 

Then,  all  at  once,  she  quitted  fooling,  became 
preternaturally  grave  and,  sitting  down  again, 
did  the  things  up  in  the  sack-cloth  and  oil  skin. 


208  VANDERDECKEN 

George  thought  that  she  heaved  a  sigh  as  she 
tied  the  string.  Hank  noticed  that  she  made  a 
reef  knot  with  her  capable  fingers  and  the  fact 
gave  him  another  little  heart  punch. 

"They're  worth  a  lot,"  said  George. 

" Thousands  and  thousands  of  dollars,"  said 
Tommie.  "Here,  take  them  and  hide  them  some- 
where safe." 

Hank  took  the  bundle.  "  I  'm  going  to  take  them 
right  aboard,"  declared  he,  "and  shove  them  in 
the  locker  with  the  ship's  money.  I  won't  trust 
them  another  minute  on  this  beach." 

"Why,  don't  be  a  fool,"  said  George,  "we'll  all 
be  going  aboard  when  Candon  comes,  we've  done 
our  work  here." 

"It's  just  on  sundown,"  said  Hank,  "and  if 
he's  not  here  in  another  half  hour,  we'll  have  to 
stick  the  night.  Can't  get  all  these  tents  moved 
in  the  dark,  and  I'm  not  going  to  leave  'em.  It's 
ten  to  one  we'll  stick  till  morning,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  have  those  jewels  stay  the  night  with  us. 
Something  would  happen  sure.  Maybe  those 
greasers  would  come  back  with  more  men  to  help 
them." 

"Not  they.  They  won't  stop  running  till  next 
week. ' ' 

"All  the  same  these  things  have  played  us  a 
good  many  tricks  and  I  want  to  stop  their  game." 

"Are  you  superstitious?"  asked  Tommie. 

"Not  a  bit,  only  I've  got  a  hunch  that  they're 
better  on  board." 


<  I 


THE  RETURN  OF  CANDON  209 

" Oh,  then,  take  them,  take  them,"  said  George, 

if  you  must.  And  see  here,  you'd  better  bring 
off  those  two  automatics  and  some  cartridges  in 
case  we  don't  get  off  to-night  and  those  scamps 
make  trouble." 

"Sure,"  said  Hank. 

Off  he  started  calling  the  Chinks  to  man  the 
boat,  whilst  George  and  Tommie  set  to  and  began 
to  build  the  fire. 

Tommie,  every  now  and  then,  took  a  glance 
towards  the  cliffs  as  though  the  absence  of  Candon 
were  worrying  her.  When  Hank  came  back  he 
found  them  seated  by  the  fire  with  the  supper 
things  spread,  but  no  Candon. 

"Hasn't  B.  C.  come  back!"  asked  Hank, 
sitting  down. 

"No,"  replied  George. 

The  thought  that  he  was  still  hunting  for 
Tommie  and  that  they  had  returned  and  were 
seated  comfortably  beginning  their  supper,  came 
not  only  to  the  pair  of  them,  but  evidently,  by  her 
manner,  to  Miss  Coulthurst.  They  tried  to  explain 
that  they  had  come  back  not  to  give  up  the  hunt, 
but  to  get  the  Chinks  to  help  to  comb  the  place, 
but  the  explanation  seemed  to  fall  rather  flat. 

"I  hope  to  goodness  nothing  has  happened  to 
him,"  said  George,  weakly. 

"Maybe  you'd  better  go  and.see,"  suggested 
Tommie. 

Hank  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"Come  on,"  he  cried.    George  was  scrambling 


210  VANDERDECKEN 

up  also  when  a  hail  came  from  towards  the  cliffs 
and  they  saw  the  figure  of  B.  C.  in  the  first  of 
the  starlight,  coming  towards  them  across  the 
sands. 

He  spotted  the  figure  of  Tommie  long  before  he 
reached  them,  and  concluded  that  the  others  had 
found  her  and  brought  her  back. 

Walking  like  a  man  dead  beat,  he  came  up  to 
them  and  cast  himself  down  to  rest  on  the  sand. 

"Thank  God,"  said  he. 

"Where  you  been?"  asked  George. 

"Been!  Half  over  Mexico,  kicking  greasers, 
hunting — giv's  a  drink.  Say — "  to  Tommie, 
"where  did  they  find  you?" 

Tommie 's  only  answer  was  a  little  squirt  of 
laughter. 

"She'd  never  gone,"  said  Hank.  Then  he  told 
the  whole  story. 

Candon  said  nothing.  Not  one  of  them  guessed 
the  revolution  that  had  suddenly  taken  place  in 
his  dead  tired  mind.  Beyond  the  bald  fact  that 
he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself  hunting  for  hours 
for  something  that  was  not  there,  stood  the  truth 
that  fate  had  worked  things  so  that  whenever  he 
moved  towards  a  decent  act  he  got  a  snub  on  the 
nose  from  somewhere.  His  attempt  to  return 
those  jewels  to  their  proper  owners  had  brought 
the  whole  McGinnis  crowd  on  top  of  him  and  had 
made  him  start  on  this  mad  expedition;  his 
attempts  to  rescue  Tommie  from  the  white  slavers 
had  made  him  ridiculous,  anyhow  to  himself; 


THE  RETURN  OF  CANDON  211 

this  wild  search  of  the  last  few  hours  had  made 
him  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  his  companions. 

One  thing  called  up  another  till  the  hell  broth 
in  his  mind,  the  feeling  of  "damn,  everything" 
was  almost  complete.  What  completed  it  was 
Tommie's  spurt  of  laughter.  That  was  fatal. 

He  said  nothing  but  began  eating  his  supper 
with  the  rest.  Then  Hank,  suddenly  remembering 
the  jewels,  broke  out,  "Say !  I  forgot,  we've  got  a 
surprise  for  you.  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  guesses 
and  I'll  bet  you  won't  tell  what  it  is." 

"It's  the  boodle,"  cut  in  George. 

Then  they  told. 

Candon  showed  neither  pleasure  nor  surprise, 
he  went  on  eating. 

"Well,  where  is  it?"  said  he  at  last. 

"On  the  yacht,"  said  Hank.  "I  rowed  over 
and  stowed  it  away,  just  before  you  came." 

"You  rowed  over  and  stowed  it  away.  What 
did  you  do  that  for?" 

"Safety." 

"Safety — did  you  expect  I  was  going  to  steal 
it?" 

"Lord!  B.  C.,"  said  Hank,  "what's  getting  at 
you?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Candon,  suddenly  blazing  out: 
"Well,  as  you  have  taken  the  stuff  on  board,  you 
can  take  it  back  to  'Frisco  without  me.  The 
expedition's  ended.  You  start  off  back  to-morrow, 
I  stay  here.  I  Ve  fulfilled  my  part  of  the  contract. 
I've  brought  Vanderdecken  on  board  your  ship 


212  VANDERDECKEN 

and  I've  brought  you  to  the  stuff  and  you've  got 
it.  In  the  contract  I  was  to  receive  so  much  money 
down.  I  don't  want  it.  I  can  hoof  it  down  to 
Mazatlan  and  get  work  among  the  Mexicans.  You 
can  leave  me  one  of  the  automatics  and  some 
cartridges,  that 's  all  I  want. ' ' 

George  sat  aghast;    so  did  Hank. 

It  was  as  if  B.  C.  had  turned  inside  out  before 
their  eyes. 

"Look  here,"  said  George  at  last,  "that's 
nonsense.  We  are  all  good  friends.  Vander- 
decken  has  nothing  to  do  with  us  or  that  boodle. 
Good  Lord!  What's  come  to  you?" 

"It's  come  to  me  that  I'm  sick  of  the  show,'* 
said  B.  C.  "I've  done  my  part,  the  expedition  is 
over  as  far  as  I'm  concerned  and  I  stay  here. 
You'll  be  leaving  early  in  the  morning?" 

"Sun-up,"  said  Hank. 

"Well,  you  can  leave  a  couple  of  days'  grub 
for  me  and  one  of  the  automatics  in  case  I  have 
any  trouble  with  these  fellows.  That's  all,  but  I'll 
see  you  in  the  morning  before  you  start." 

They  saw  he  was  in  earnest  and  in  no  temper 
for  discussion,  neither  of  them  spoke. 

Then  Candon,  having  finished,  got  up  and 
walked  down  to  the  beach. 

Tornmie  had  not  said  a  word. 

George  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"What  ails  him,  what  in  the  nation's  got  into 
his  head?" 

"Search  me,"  said  Hank,  in  a  dreary  voice, 


THE  RETURN  OF  CANDON        213 

"unless  it's  this  expedition.  I  was  saying  before 
he  came  back  there  was  something  wrong  with  it, 
has  been  from  the  start.  I  dunno — well,  here  we 
are,  and  how  are  we  to  leave  him  without  money 
or  anything?  Why,  I've  got  as  fond  of  that  lad 
as  if  he  was  my  own  brother  and  he  turns  like 
that  on  us." 

"Maybe  he's  tired,"  said  Tommie,  "and  if  you 
talk  to  him  in  the  morning,  you'll  find  him 
different. ' ' 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  George,  "he  means 
what  he  says.  Question  is,  what's  turned  him 
on  us?" 

"Turned  him  on  us?  Why,  my  taking  those 
rotten  diamonds  off  to  the  ship — what  else?  I 
didn't  know  he'd  take  it  like  that,  how  could  I?" 

"Then  go  and  explain,"  said  George,  "go  and 
tell  him  you're  sorry." 

"Me!   what's  there  to  be  sorry  for?" 

"Well,  it  was  a  fool's  game,  anyhow." 

"Which?" 

"Carting  that  stuff  off  on  board." 

"We  ain't  all  as  clever  as  you,  I  know,"  said 
Hank.  "S'pose  those  Mexicans  come  dowTn  to- 
night on  us,  you'll  see  if  it  was  a  fool's  game  get- 
ting the  valuables  off  first.  I  tell  you  we  ought  to 
have  cleared  off  this  evening,  it's  plain  not  safe 
sticking  here  the  night.  We  would  have  cleared 
only  for  B.  C.,  fooling  about." 

"Pie  was  looking  for  me,"  quietly  put  in 
Tommie. 


214  VANDERDECKEN 

Hank,  squashed  for  the  moment,  was  silent, 
then  he  said:  "Well,  maybe,  but  there  we  are,  in 
about  as  dangerous  a  fix  as  people  could  be,  and 
you  talk  of  fools'  games." 

"By  the  way,"  said  George,  "have  you  brought 
off  those  automatics?" 

"Those  which — automatics — Lord,  no — I  for- 
got, clean.  How's  a  chap  to  be  remembering 
things,  running  backwards  and  forwards  from 
that  damned  ship?  Clean— 

"Well,  it's  not  the  first  thing  you've  forgotten, 
and  if  you're  so  anxious  about  the  Mexicans, 
you'd  better  go  and  fetch  them." 

"Me!  I  ain't  going  to  fetch  and  carry  any 
more.  Go  yourself." 

"Pistols  aren't  any  use,"  said  Tommie,  sud- 
denly as  if  awaking  from  a  reverie.  "If  those 
people  come,  there'll  be  so  many  of  them  it  won't 
be  any  use  firing  at  them  and  if  any  of  them  were 
shot,  we  might  get  into  trouble." 

"Seems  to  me  we're  mighty  near  it." 

"Mighty  near  which?"  asked  a  voice. 

Candon  had  returned  and  was  standing  just 
outside  the  fire  zone.  He  seemed  in  a  slightly 
better  temper. 

"Why,  Hank  here  has  forgot  to  bring  off  the 
automatics,"  said  George,  "and  he's  afraid  of 
those  Mexicans  coming  down  on  us  in  the  night." 

"Lord,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  said  B.  C. 
almost  in  his  old  voice.  "Well,  I'll  go  off  and 


THE  RETURN  OF  CANDON  21  r, 

fetch  them.  I've  got  to  fetch  a  couple  of  things 
I've  left  in  my  locker  anyway."  He  turned. 

1 ' Fetch  the  ammunition  if  you're  going,"  said 
George. 

"Sure." 

They  heard  him  calling  the  Chinks,  then  the 
boat  put  off. 

"Seems  he's  still  bent  on  quitting,"  said  Hank. 

George  yawned. 

If  the  air  of  the  Bay  of  Whales  could  be  con- 
densed and  bottled,  morphia  would  be  a  drug  in 
the  drug  market.  It  had  the  two  men  now  firmly 
in  its  grip.  They  determined  to  turn  in  without 
waiting  for  B.  C.,  and  Tommie,  retiring  to  her 
tent,  seemed  as  heavy  with  sleep  as  the  others. 
She  was  not.  She  did  not  undress  but  just  lay 
down  on  a  blanket,  her  chin  in  the  palms  of  her 
hands  and  .gazing  out  on  the  starlit  beach  as 
though  hypnotized. 

She  was  gazing  at  Candon. 

He  was  the  only  man  she  had  ever  thought 
twice  about,  he  was  different  from  the  others,  she 
could  not  tell  how.  The  fact  that  he  was  Vander- 
decken  did  not  make  this  difference,  nor  the  fact 
that  he  had  picked  her  up  and  literally  run  away 
with  her,  nor  the  fact  that  he  had  beautiful  blue 
eyes.  He  was  just  different  and  she  felt  that  she 
would  never  meet  anyone  like  him  again. 

Yet  he  was  going  to  leave  them.  Instinctively 
she  knew  why.  That  outburst  when  they  found 
the  cache  sanded  over  gave  her  some  knowledge 


216  VANDERDECKEN 

of  his  temperament;  and  the  fact  that  he  had 
almost  killed  himself  hunting  for  her  gave  her 
some  hint  of  his  care  for  her.  And  she  had 
laughed  at  him. 

She  remembered  how  he  had  said:  "Thank 
God!"  on  finding  her  safe. 

She  rose  and  came  out  of  the  tent  on  to  the 
sands.  She  had  come  to  the  determination  that 
if  he  stayed  behind  here  on  the  morrow,  it  would 
not  be  her  fault,  and,  coming  down  to  the  sea 
edge,  she  sat  down  on  the  beach  to  wait  for  the 
returning  boat. 

The  sound  of  the  waves  on  the  long  beach  came 
mixed  with  the  breath  of  the  sea.  The  reefs  spoke 
sometimes  and  the  wind,  blowing  from  the  north- 
west, stirred  the  sand  with  a  silken  whispering 
sound  that  would  die  off  to  nothing  and  then 
return. 

Sometimes  she  fancied  that  she  could  hear  the 
creak  of  oars,  and,  rising,  strained  her  eyes  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  coming  boat.  Nothing. 
She  could  not  see  the  anchor  light  of  the  Wear 
Jack  owing  to  the  faint  sea  haze,  and  taking  her 
seat  again  on  the  sands,  she  resumed  her  watch 
whilst  the  time  passed  and  the  stars  moved  and 
the  tide  went  further  out. 

Then  she  rose.  Candon  was  evidently  remain- 
ing for  the  night  on  the  Wear  Jack;  there  was  no 
use  in  waiting  longer.  Still  she  waited,  standing 
and  looking  out  to  sea. 

At  last,  she  turned  and  came  back  to  the  tents. 


THE  RETURN  OF  CANDON       217 

She  would  see  him  in  the  morning,  but  the 
others  would  be  there.  It  would  be  quite  different 
then.  The  moment  had  passed  and  gone,  and 
would  not  return. 

Arrived  at  her  tent,  she  undressed  and  got 
into  her  pyjamas  and  crawled  under  a  blanket 
which  she  pulled  over  her  head.  Then,  safely 
hidden,  and  with  her  face  in  the  crook  of  her  arm, 
she  sniveled  and  sobbed,  remembered  she  had  not 
said  her  prayers  and  said  them,  sniffed  some  more 
and  fell  asleep.  Poor  Tommie.  She  did  not  know 
what  she  wanted  but  she  knew  she  wanted  it.  She 
felt  she  had  lost  something  but  she  did  not  know 
it  was  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

GONE! 

THE  sun  got  up  and  struck  the  hills  of  Sin- 
aloa,  the  plains  of  sagebrush,  rock  and 
sand,  the  sea. 

The  Bay  of  Whales,  lit  from  end  to  end  and 
shouting  with  gulls,  faced  an  ocean  destitute  of 
sign  of  ship  or  sail. 

George  awoke  in  the  tent  and  gazed  for  a 
moment  lazily  at  the  honey-coloured  patch  on  the 
sail  cloth  above  his  head,  where  the  sun  was  lay- 
ing a  finger.  He  heard  the  waves  on  the  beach 
and  the  crying  of  the  gulls,  the  wind  through  the 
tent-opening  came  fresh  and  pure,  and  he  knew  it 
was  good  to  be  alive.  Alive  in  a  clean  world 
where  the  wind  was  a  person  and  the  sun  the  chief 
character  after  God's  earth  and  sea.  Then  Candon 
came  blowing  into  his  mind  and  he  remembered 
the  incidents  of  the  night  before  and  how  B.  C. 
had  gone  off  the  handle  over  something,  he  could 
not  guess  what,  and  how  he  had  planned  to  leave 
them  that  day.  All  this  he  remembered  in  the  first 
few  seconds  of  waking — and  then  he  recognised 
that  Candon  was  not  in  the  tent  and  that  his  blan- 


GONE!  219 

kets  were  carefully  rolled  up  and  stowed  for  the 
day.  He  must  have  got  up  early  and  gone  out; 
probably  he  was  building  the  fire. 

He  gave  the  sleeping  Hank  a  dig,  and  woke 
him  up. 

"Plank,"  said  George. 

"Yep?" 

"I've  been  thinking  of  B.  C." 

"What's  the  matter  with  B.  C.?" 

"Wake  up,  you  old  mud  turtle.  He's  leaving 
us  to-day  and  we've  just  got  not  to  let  him  go." 

"Oh,  ay,"  said  Hank,  remembering  things. 
Then  he  yawned  frightfully,  blinked  and  looked 
around. 

"Where's  he  gone?" 

"He's  got  up  early — outside  somewhere.  Say, 
we've  got  to  keep  him — have  a  straight  talk  with 
him.  He's  one  of  the  best  for  all  his  queer  ways." 

"Sure,"  said  Hank. 

Fully  awake  now,  he  rose  and  slipped  into  his 
clothes,  George  following  suit.  Hank  was  the  first 
out.  He  stepped  on  to  the  sand,  looked  round  for 
Candon  and  then  looked  out  to  sea. 

"Jumping  Moses!" 

"What's  wrong?"  cried  George,  coming  out. 
"What  are  you Good  gosh!"  He  had  fol- 
lowed the  pointing  of  Hank's  finger.  The  Wear 
Jack  was  gone. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  came  Tommie's 
voice  from  her  tent  door.  "Why,  where 's  the 
ship?" 


220  VANDERDECKEN 

"Gone,"  said  Hank.  "Drifted — sunk — but 
what  in  the  nation  could  have  sunk  her?  How 
could  she  have  drifted?  Oh,  hell !  It  can't  be  that 
B.  C.  has  bolted  with  her — say — Bud — 

"It  is,"  said  George,  "bolted  with  her  and  the 
boodle.  We've  been  stung — that's  all." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Tommie.  Her  little 
face  looked  like  a  piece  of  chalk  and  she  was 
holding  on  to  the  tent  flap. 

"There  you  are,"  said  Hank.  "Nor  I.  B.  C. 
couldn't  do  it,  that's  all.  He  couldn't  do  it." 

"He's  done  it,"  said  George.  "He  was  sore 
about  your  taking  the  stuff  off  to  the  ship  because 
he  intended  bunking  with  it  himself — can't  you 
see?" 

"Maybe  those  Chinks  have  taken  the  ship," 
said  Hank. 

George  shook  his  head.  "We'd  have  heard  him 
shout  with  the  wind  blowing  that  way.  Besides, 
they  couldn't.  Not  one  of  them  has  any  notion  of 
navigating  her.  Can't  you  see?  He's  got  the 
boodle.  He's  meant  to  do  this  all  along  when  the 
stuff  turned  up  and  he's  done  it." 

"I  tell  you  that  chap's  a  white  man,"  began 
Hank,  furiously. 

"In  spots,"  said  George,  "or  in  streaks — as 
he  said  himself.  He  runs  straight  for  a  while, 
wants  to  run  straight  and  then  goes  off  the  other 
way  about.  He's  a  socialist,  grand  ideas  and  a 
slung  shot  in  his  pocket." 

"Socialist,  so'm  I." 


GONE!  221 

"No  you're  not,  you're  Hank  Fisher." 

Hank  went  off  a  few  yards  and  sat  down  on 
the  sand  and  folded  his  arms  and  brooded.  His 
good  soul  had  been  hit  and  hit  hard.  Even  while 
defending  Candon,  he  recognised  the  logic  of  the 
situation,  pointing  to  the  almost  unbelievable  fact 
that  Candon,  yielding  to  his  worst  nature,  had 
bolted.  Bolted,  leaving  them  stranded  on  that 
beach. 

He  could  not  but  recognise  that  for  a  man  in 
Candon 's  position,  leaving  morality  aside,  the 
move  was  a  good  one.  His  return  to  San  Fran- 
cisco was  impossible,  McGinnis  would  merely  turn 
evidence  against  him.  Leaving  the  Vanderdecken 
business  aside,  there  was  the  wrecking  of  the  junk; 
the  Wear  Jack  herself  was  attainted.  All  sorts 
of  new  ideas  began  to  turn  somersaults  in  Hank's 
mind  as  this  fact  burst  fully  for  the  first  time  on 
his  intelligence. 

"Bud,"  he  shouted,  "come  here  and  sit. 
Where's  T.  C.?  Caliber.  Sit  down." 

They  came  and  sat  down. 

"Folks,"  said  Hank,  "here's  a  new  tangle. 
Hasn't  it  ever  struck  into  you  that  the  old  Jack's 
n'  more  use  to  us  than  an  opera  hat  to  a  bull. 
Those  movie  men  don't  know  her  name,  but  they 
know  her  make  and  that  she  went  south,  see! 
And  every  yacht  coming  up  from  the  south  any- 
think  like  her  will  be  overhauled  by  the  coast- 
guard, see?  Well,  suppose  we'd  put  back  in  her, 
getting  along  for  the  Islands,  the  coastguard 


222  VANDERDECKEN 

would  have  been  sure  to  board  us,  they'd  have 
found  T.  C.  aboard  and  we'd  have  been  dished, 
straight. ' ' 

"I  hadn't  thought  it  out  like  that  before,"  said 
George.  ' '  I  thought  we  could  have  slipped  up  to 
'Frisco  and  then  told  some  yarn." 

Tommie  said  nothing.  The  colour  had  almost 
returned  to  her  face,  but  she  seemed  like  a  person 
slightly  dazed.  No  wonder.  Despite,  or  maybe 
partly  because  of  his  confession  to  her,  partly 
because  of  his  evident  care  for  her  and  partly 
because  of  her  newborn  affection  for  him,  she 
would  have  trusted  B.  C.  with  anything,  her  life, 
her  money,  anything — this  man  who  had  betrayed 
her,  betrayed  Bud  and  Hank,  taken  their  ship  and 
left  them  stranded  on  a  hostile  beach. 

1  'Well,  we  couldn't,"  said  Hank.  "The  fact  is 
the  Wear  Jack  was  no  use  to  us  and  maybe  it  was 
Providence  that  made  B.  C.  let  us  down." 

"Maybe,"  said  Tommie,  catching  at  straws, 
"she  drifted  away." 

"That's  what  I  thought  first,"  said  George, 
"but  she  couldn't.  She  was  anchored  fast.  If 
she  had,  why  she  could  have  put  back.  What's 
the  good  of  supposing,  when  the  thing's  clear  as 
paint.  He  was  boss  of  the  ship,  the  Chinks  always 
looked  to  him  for  orders,  they'd  do  whatever  he 
told  them,  and  when  he  went  aboard  last  night 
and  told  them  to  knock  off  the  shackles  and  drop 
the  anchor  chain,  they  wouldn't  grumble.  If  they 
thought  anything,  they'd  think  it  was  part  of 


GONE!  223 

some  move  in  the  game  and  we  were  in  it.  We've 
made  several  big  mistakes,  but  the  biggest  was 
letting  that  guy  be  boss." 

"Well,  he  was  boss,  anyhow,"  said  the  ingenu- 
ous Hank.  "He  was  the  best  man  of  us  three 
in  the  practical  business  and  I'm  not  saying  he 
wasn't  the  best  in  brains.  He  couldn't  run 
straight,  that's  all;  if  he  could  he  might  have 
been  President  by  this." 

They  all  sat  silent  for  a  minute,  then  George 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Breakfast,"  said  George. 

Not  another  word  was  spoken  of  Candon.  It 
was  as  though  he  had  been  expelled  from  their 
minds  as  from  their  society. 

But  they  could  not  expel  the  situation  he  had 
created.  Though  the  Wear  Jack  was  no  use  for 
taking  them  back  to  San  Francisco,  it  could  have 
taken  them  somewhere — anywhere  from  that 
beach  where  the  fume  of  the  sea  and  the  sun  and 
the  silence  and  desolation  and  the  blinding  sands 
and  mournful  cliffs  had  already  begun  to  tell  upon 
them  now  that  the  place  was  a  prison.  Then  there 
were  the  Mexicans  to  be  thought  of.  If  those  men 
whom  they  had  kicked  and  man-handled  and 
robbed  of  their  booty  were  to  return  with  a  dozen 
others,  what  would  happen?  How  could  two  men 
and  a  girl  put  up  any  sort  of  fight?  And  the 
dreadful  thing  was  Tommie.  Tommie,  who  had 
stuck  to  them  because  she  was  a  brick,  who,  to 
save  them  from  a  ridicule  almost  as  bad  as  dis- 


224  VANDERDECKEN 

grace,  had  insisted  on  going  on.  If  she  had  turned 
back,  she  might  have  been  safe  at  Los  Angeles 
now  instead  of  here.  This  thought  hit  Bud  almost 
as  badly  as  Hank. 

It  did  not  seem  to  hit  Tommie  at  all.  There 
were  moments  during  the  preparation  of  break- 
fast when  the  throat  muscles  of  the  redoubtable 
T.  C.  made  movements  as  though  she  were 
swallowing  down  the  recollection  of  Candon,  but, 
the  meal  once  begun,  she  seemed  herself  again. 

As  they  ate,  they  discussed  the  situation  in  all 
its  bearings.  They  had  provisions  enough  for 
three  weeks,  according  to  Hank's  calculations.  He 
suggested  that  they  should  hang  on  just  there  for 
a  day  or  two,  and  then,  if  nothing  turned  up  in 
the  way  of  a  ship,  that  they  should  ''hike"  down 
the  coast  towards  the  town  "that  fellow"  had 
spoken  of. 

"What  was  the  name  of  it?"  asked  George. 

"Search  me,"  replied  Hank,  "but  it  don't 
matter,  the  name,  it's  a  town  anyhow." 

"And  suppose,  while  we're  hanging  on  here, 
those  Mexicans  come  at  us!"  asked  George. 

Hank  had  forgotten  the  Mexicans. 

"If  they  do,"  said  he,  "we'll  have  to  fight  them, 
that's  all.  We've  got  the  spades,  and  two  Amer- 
icans are  a  match  for  a  dozen  greasers,  and 
there's  not  likely  to  be  that  number." 

George  got  up  and  walked  off  down  to  the  sea 
edge.  He  seemed  to  be  thinking  things  over. 

Hank  found  himself  alone  with  Tommie. 


GONE!  225 

"You  meant  three  Americans,"  said  she. 

"Sure,"  said  Hank,  "you'd  put  up  as  good  a 
fight  as  any  of  us,  I  believe." 

Hank  had  never  dealt  much  with  women-kind, 
except  maybe  in  that  horrible  business  liason  of 
his  with  Mrs.  Driscoll,  and  though  he  had  read 
the  "Poems  of  Passion"  by  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 
he  had  no  language  at  all  to  garb  his  sentiments 
with,  if  you  can  dignify  with  the  title  of  sentiment 
a  desire  to  eat  Tommie. 

He  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  began  tracing  pat- 
terns on  the  sand  with  his  finger.  The  rat  trap 
inventor  was  at  fault,  his  ingenuity  could  not 
assist  him,  the  civilized  man  who  believed  in  the 
sanctity  of  womanhood  and  the  primitive  man 
who  wanted  to  make  a  meal  of  T.  C.  were  at  war, 
but  the  primitive  man  was  the  stronger  and  was 
preparing  to  speak  and  make  a  fool  of  himself 
when  a  yell  came  from  George. 

"Ship!" 

They  sprang  to  their  feet  and  came  running 
to  the  water's  edge.  They  could  see  nothing; 
then,  following  his  pointing,  away  on  the  sea  line, 
they  saw  what  looked  like  the  wing  of  a  fly. 

"It's  the  Wear  Jack/'  said  Hank,  "no,  it 
ain't — her  canvas  wouldn't  show  as  dark  as 
that." 

"How's  she  bearing?"  asked  George. 

"Coming  right  in,  I  believe.  She's  got  the 
wind  with  her;  that's  her  fore  canvas.  There 'd 
be  more  spread  if  she  was  sideways  to  us  or 


226  VANDERDECKEN 

tacking  against  the  wind.  Yes,  she's  coming 
right  for  us." 

"Good,"  said  George. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  a  silence 
more  indicative  than  any  words  could  be  of  the 
relief  that  had  come  to  their  minds.  It  was  sud- 
denly shattered  by  Hank. 

"She's  the  Heart  of  Ireland.'' 

"What  you  say?"  cried  George. 

"She's  the  Heart  of  Ireland." 

"How  do  you  know!" 

"Lord!  how  do  I  know?  I  know.  I  feel  it. 
What  else  can  she  be?  Why  she's  due.  She's 
just  had  time  to  mend  herself  and  put  out. 
What  other  boat  would  be  putting  into  this  God- 
forsaken place!  And  she  seems  about  the  size 
of  the  Heart.  We'll  soon  see.  I've  got  the 
specification  down  in  my  head,  that  fellow  gave 
it  to  me — two  topmast,  fifty-ton  schooner,  broad 
beam  and  dirty  as  Hades.  Those  are  her  beauty 
marks — we'll  soon  see." 

"But  she'd  have  passed  the  Wear  Jack/'  said 
George. 

"Not  if  the  Jack  went  south.  And  anyhow 
they'd  have  passed  in  the  night;  wouldn't  have 
seen  each  other." 

"What  are  we  to  do?"  asked  Tommie. 

"I'm  thinking,"  said  Hank.  He  looked  round, 
brooded  for  a  moment,  and  then  stood  looking 
out  to  sea.  His  ingenuity  was  at  work.  Then  he 
spoke. 


GONE!  227 

"There  are  no  caves  in  these  cliffs  or  we  might 
hide  there.  No  use  scattering  inland.  First  of 
all,  if  these  chaps  find  nothing  but  the  tents 
they'll  think  us  gone  and  they'll  go  off  with  the 
tents  and  grub  and  everything.  Then  where  would 
we  be?  We've  got  to  hide  and  watch  for 
chances." 

"Where?"  asked  George. 

Hank  pointed  to  the  big  rock  before-mentioned, 
shaped  like  a  pulpit,  that  stood  close  to  them  by 
the  sea  edge. 

"There,  standing  close  up  to  it,  we  can  dodge 
them  when  they're  coming  ashore.  Then  when 
they  land  we  can  shift  round  to  the  north  side  of 
it,  see?" 

"I  see,"  said  George,  "but  where 's  the  use? 
Suppose  we  manage  to  hide  entirely  from  them, 
where's  the  use?  They'll  take  the  tents  and 
stores  as  you  said — and  where  will  we  be?" 

"Now  see  here,"  said  the  rat  trap  man.  "It's 
ten  to  one  the  whole  crowd  will  come  ashore, 
leaving  only  a  couple  of  guys  to  look  after  the 
ship.  They'll  beach  the  boat,  leaving  a  man  to 
look  after  her  and  scatter  up  to  the  tents,  see?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  there's  a  chance  that  we  may  be  able  to 
make  a  dash  for  the  boat,  knock  the  chap  on  the 
head,  push  her  off  and  get  to  the  schooner." 

"Good!"  cried  Tommie. 

"And  suppose  there's  a  lot  of  fellows  on  the 
schooner?"  asked  George. 


228  VANDERDECKEN 

"Oh,  suppose  anything.  What  do  you  think 
this  show  is?  If  I  know  anything  of  that  crowd, 
it's  our  lives  we  are  playing  for  and  the  chances 
are  a  hundred  to  one  against  us.  It  all  depends 
where  they  beach  the  boat.  Come  along,  it's  time 
to  get  to  eastward  of  that  rock." 

Hank,  picking  up  a  water  breaker  and  a  cup, 
they  moved  off  to  the  rock  and  put  it  between 
them  and  the  sea. 

Before  taking  shelter,  Hank  shaded  his  eyes 
and  looked  out  to  sea. 

"It'll  take  them  near  an  hour  to  get  in,"  said 
he. 

Half  an  hour  passed  and  then  the  thirst  began. 
Used  as  they  were  to  the  sun,  they  had  never 
before  experienced  the  ordeal  of  sitting  still  with 
the  sun's  rays  beating  on  them.  Fortunately  they 
wore  panamas  and  the  wind  from  the  sea  licked 
round  the  rock  every  little  while,  bringing  a  trace 
of  coolness.  Hank  poured  out  the  water  and  they 
drank  in  turn  every  now  and  then.  He  insisted 
on  wetting  Tommie's  head  occasionally.  They 
talked  in  whispers  and  scarcely  at  all,  listening — 
listening  —  listening.  Time  passed,  bringing 
gulls'  voices,  the  beat  of  the  little  waves  on  the 
beach,  the  silky  whisper  of  the  sand,  then  sud- 
denly far  away — 

Rumble-tumble-tum-tum-tum. 

The  sound  of  an  anchor  chain  running  through 
a  hawse  pipe. 

Thev  looked  at  one  another. 


GONE !  229 

11  That's  the  killick,"  murmured  Hank.  "It's 
them  right  enough,  they've  come  right  in  know- 
ing the  ground,  they  wouldn't  have  been  in  so 
quick  if  they  hadn't  been  used  to  the  place. 
Listen ! "  He  had  no  need  to  tell  them  to  listen. 

Time  passed  and  the  beach  talked  but  no  sound 
came  from  the  sea  but  the  sound  of  the  small 
waves. 

Tommie  suddenly  nudged  Hank.  She  nodded 
towards  the  cliffs.  On  the  sky  edge  of  the  cliffs 
something  black  showed,  then  it  withdrew. 

"Men,"  whispered  Tommie. 

"Mexicans,"  murmured  Hank.  The  eerie 
feeling  came  to  him  that  behind  those  cliffs,  in 
the  gullies,  men  were  swarming:  that  Sinaloa 
had  beaten  up  its  bandits  and  desperadoes,  just 
as  he  had  expected  it  would,  and  that  the  call  of 
the  diamonds  like  the  call  of  a  corpse  in  the  desert 
was  bringing  the  vultures.  They  would  connect 
this  new  crowd  just  about  to  land  with  the 
treasure  business.  If  they  showed  themselves  too 
soon,  then  McGinnis  and  his  men  would  be  fright- 
ened off.  McGinnis  was  bad,  but  the  Mexicans 
were  worse.  Hank  did  not  often  say  his  prayers, 
but  he  prayed  just  then  that  cunning  might  be 
granted  to  the  greasers  not  to  shout  before  the 
game  was  corralled. 

He  needn't. 

There  came  far  away  voices  from  the  sea  and 
the  creak  of  oars — nearer. 

"Get  your  hind  legs  ready,"  whispered  Hank. 


230  VANDERDECKEN 

Crash!  the  oars  were  in.  Then  came  a  burst 
of  yells  as  though  a  pack  of  demons  had  suddenly 
been  unleashed  and  unmuzzled. 

Hank  sprang  to  his  feet.  Leading  the  others, 
he  dodged  round  the  north  side  to  the  seaward 
side  of  the  rock.  A  hundred  and  fifty  yards  away 
to  the  south  a  big  boat  had  been  beached.  It  lay 
unattended.  Like  a  pack  of  hounds  on  a  hot 
scent  the  McGinnis  crowd  were  racing  up  towards 
the  tents.  You  could  have  covered  them  with  a 
blanket.  Blind  to  everything  but  loot  and  ven- 
geance, a  trumpet  would  not  have  turned  them. 

Hank  seized  Tommie  by  the  hand  and  started. 

It  was  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  from  the  rock 
to  the  boat,  the  going  good  over  a  strip  of  hard 
sand  uncovered  by  the  ebbing  tide. 

From  the  boat  to  the  nearest  tent  was  about  a 
hundred  yards,  the  going  bad  over  soft  friable 
sand. 

They  had  made  fifty  yards  unnoticed,  when 
Tommie  tripped  and  fell.  Hank  picked  her  up 
and  flung  her  on  his  shoulder. 

The  ruffians,  racing  from  tent  to  tent  hunting, 
cursing,  rooting  about,  saw  nothing  till  Pat 
McGinnis  himself,  turning  from  Tommie 's  tent 
empty  like  the  rest,  saw  the  whole  of  Hank's 
cards  on  the  table — so  to  speak. 

All  but  the  ace  of  trumps. 

He  whipped  it  from  his  belt,  aimed,  took  a  long 
shot  on  chance,  and,  leading  the  others,  raced 
back  for  the  sea  edge. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

JAKE 

HANK  had  dropped  Tommie  into  the  boat 
and  was  striving  with  George  to  push  off, 
when  the  crack  of  the  revolver  came  fol- 
lowed by  the  bizz  of  the  bullet,  yards  out. 

''Shove  her — shove  her,"  cried  Hank.  The 
huge  brute  of  a  scow  had  settled  herself  com- 
fortably in  the  sand  as  if  she  meant  to  take  up 
her  residence  there.  Tommie,  tumbling  out  of 
the  boat  nearly  as  quickly  as  she  had  been  thrown 
in,  put  her  shoulder  to  the  stem ;  Hank  and  George 
at  either  gunnel  clutched  hard.  Hank  gave  the 
word  and  they  all  heaved  together.  Next  mo- 
ment they  were  on  board  her  and  she  was  water- 
borne. 

Hank  seized  one  of  the  ash  sweeps  and  using  it 
as  a  pole  drove  her  half  a  dozen  yards,  she  slued 
round  sideways,  but  George  in  the  bow  had  a 
sweep  out  now  and  with  a  stroke  pulled  her  nose 
round  whilst  Hank  took  his  seat. 

As  they  got  away  on  her,  McGinnis,  leading  the 
hunt,  was  only  twenty  yards  from  the  sea.  He 
was  holding  his  fire,  as  were  the  others,  till  they 

231 


232  VANDERDECKEN 

reached  the  water's  edge,  when  the  bang  of  an 
old  musket  that  might  have  landed  with  Padre 
Junipero  made  the  echoes  jump  alive. 

The  attackers  wheeled. 

Down  through  the  two  defiles  and  fanning  out 
on  the  sands,  poring  like  ants,  came  the  country- 
side for  all  it  was  worth,  half  a  hundred  beggars 
and  landed  proprietors,  zambos  and  terzerons, 
yellow  men  and  men  who  were  almost  black,  armed 
with  anything  and  everything  and  led  by  the 
' '  Dredging  Machine. ' '  A  fellow  who  had  tumbled 
in  his  hurry  was  picking  himself  up.  It  was  his 
musket  that  had  gone  off  by  accident. 

"Pull!"  shouted  Hank. 

They  were  saved.  The  McGinnis  crowd,  like 
a  pack  of  wild  dogs  chased  by  wolves,  were  racing 
along  the  water  edge  towards  the  south  horn  of 
the  bay;  the  Mexicans,  faced  by  the  facts  of  the 
sand  and  a  proposition  in  Euclid,  had  paused  for 
half  a  moment.  The  direct  line  towards  the  south 
horn  of  the  bay  was  hard  going  over  the  soft  sand, 
but  it  was  shorter  than  making  direct  for  the  hard 
beach.  Two  sides  of  a  triangle  being  longer  than 
the  third,  they  took  the  shorter  way. 

The  rowers  as  they  rowed  watched  the  race,  and 
saw  plainly  that  McGinnis  and  his  merry  men 
were  making  good.  Then  they  turned  their  atten- 
tion to  the  ship  ahead.  She  was  swinging  to  the 
current  broadside  on  to  them,  a  frowsy  looking 
two-topmast  schooner,  the  Heart  of  Ireland  sure 
enough. 


JAKE  233 

"  Wonder  how  many  chaps  are  on  board,"  said 
George. 

"We'll  soon  see,"  replied  Hank. 

As  they  drew  closer  they  saw  a  man  leaning  on 
the  rail  and  watching  them  through  a  pair  of 
binoculars.  He  seemed  the  only  person  on  the 
ship. 

Closer  now,  the  old  schooner  began  to  speak  of 
her  disreputability.  The  paint,  in  Hank's  words, 
was  less  paint  than  blisters,  the  canvas,  hurriedly 
stowed,  was  discoloured  and  patched — old  stuff 
re-done  by  the  hand  of  McGay,  that  stand-by  of 
small  ship  owners  in  these  days  when  a  new  main- 
sail for  a  small  boat  costs  anything  from  two 
hundred  dollars.  Built  in  1882  as  a  trading 
schooner,  she  had  been  built  a  bit  too  small,  but 
she  had  looked  honest  when  the  fitters  and  riggers 
had  done  with  her;  honest,  clean  and  homely,  in 
those  first  days  one  might  have  compared  her  to 
a  country  girl  starting  for  market  with  a  basket 
a  bit  too  small. 

In  two  years  this  simple  trader  had  changed 
her  vocation;  in  thirty-five  years  she  had  done 
pretty  much  everything  that  a  ship  ought  not  to 
do,  run  guns,  run  gin  and  opium,  fished  in  prohib- 
ited waters,  and  in  some  extraordinary  way  she 
bore  the  stamp  of  it  all.  If  some  ship  lover  had 
seen  the  Mary  Burton — that  was  her  first  name — 
and  the  Heart  of  Ireland,  which  was  her  last,  he 
might  have  been  excused,  if  a  moral  man,  for 
weeping. 


234  VANDERDECKEN 

"Ahoy!"  cried  Hank,  as  the  boat  came  along- 
side grinding  the  blisters  off  her.  * '  Fling's  a  rope 
there — why!  Good  Lord!  It's  Jake." 

It  was.  Jake,  looking  just  the  same  as  when 
Hank  had  fired  him  off  the  Wear  Jack,  only  now, 
instead  of  a  fur  cap,  he  was  wearing  a  dingy 
white  Stetson  with  the  brim  turned  down.  He  had 
come  along  with  the  McGinnis  crowd,  partly 
because  he  wanted  a  job  and  partly  because  he 
wanted  to  see  the  downfall  of  Hank.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  he  had  seen  the  triumph  of  Hank,  if  you 
can  call  it  a  triumph,  for  he  had  been  watching 
the  whole  of  the  proceedings  from  start  to  finish. 
Recognising  the  inevitable  he  made  no  bones  but 
flung  the  rope. 

"Well,  you  scoundrel,"  said  Hank,  as  he  came 
on  deck,  "what  you  doing  here?" 

"What  you  doin'  yourself?"  said  Jake. 

"I'll  jolly  soon  show  you,"  said  Hank,  who  had 
no  time  to  waste  in  verbal  explanations.  Seizing 
the  scamp  by  the  shoulders,  he  turned  him  round 
in  some  extraordinary  way  and  giving  him  a  shove 
that  sent  him  running  forward  two  yards.  "Get 
the  gaskets  off  the  jib  and  look  slippy  about  it — 
quick  now  or  I'll  be  after  you.  Bud,  I'm  going  to 
leave  the  boat.  There's  a  dinghy  aboard  and 
that  scow  would  clutter  up  the  decks  too  much. 
Cut  her  adrift  and  come  on.  Clap  on  to  the  throat 
an'  peak  halyards,  now  then,  all  together,  yeo  ho !" 

Mainsail  and  foresail  took  the  wind  at  last. 
And  what  a  mainsail  it  was,  after  the  canvas  of 


JAKE  235 

the  Wear  Jack,  dirty  as  a  dishcloth  and  patched 
where  a  pilot  mark  had  once  been.  And  what 
sticks  after  the  spars  of  the  Jack,  from  the  main 
boom,  that  had  seen  better  days,  to  the  gaff,  with 
its  wooden  jaws  bound  to  creak  like  a  four-post 
bedstead ! 

"Now  the  winch,"  cried  Hank.  "Clap  on  to 
the  winch  and  roust  her  out." 

He  took  the  wheel,  whilst  Jake,  Tommie  and 
Bud  clapped  on  to  the  winch,  and,  as  he  stood 
listening  to  the  music  of  the  chain  coming  in,  he 
cast  his  eyes  away  towards  the  south  horn  of  the 
bay  where  the  McGinnis  crew  could  be  seen  mov- 
ing slowly  now  towards  the  bay  beyond,  followed 
by  the  Mexicans,  evidently  half-beaten,  but  still 
doggedly  in  pursuit. 

"She's  out  of  the  mud!"  cried  George. 

Hank  turned  the  spokes  of  the  wheel,  and  the 
Heart,  with  all  her  canvas  thrashing,  took  the 
wind,  got  steerage  way  on  her,  and,  as  the  anchor 
came  home,  lay  over  on  the  starboard  tack. 

She  had  been  anchored  to  north  of  the  break  in 
the  reefs  and  this  course  would  take  her  diagon- 
ally through  the  break. 

Hank,  who  had  bitten  off  a  piece  of  plug  tobacco, 
stood,  working  his  lantern  jaws  as  he  steered. 
Gulls  raced  them  as  they  went  and  the  breeze 
strengthened  up,  whilst  block,  spar  and  cordage 
creaked  to  the  boost  of  the  waves  and  the  slap  of 
the  bow  wash.  They  passed  the  horn  of  the 
northern  reef  by  a  short  ten  yards,  the  out-going 


236  VANDERDECKEN 

tide  and  the  south-running  current  foaming  round 
the  rocks  like  destruction  gnashing  at  them.  Then, 
lifting  her  bowsprit,  the  Heart  took  the  great  sea, 
dipping  and  rising  again  to  the  steadily  marching 
swell. 

Hank  held  on.  The  wind  was  breezing  up 
strong  from  the  southwest  and  he  was  keeping 
her  close  hauled.  A  few  miles  out,  with  Mexico 
a  cloud  on  the  sea  line  and  the  reefs  a  memory, 
he  spun  the  wheel  and  laid  her  on  a  due  westerly 
course. 

He  called  Jake. 

"You  can  steer?" 

"Sure,"  said  Jake. 

"Then  catch  hold  and  keep  her  as  she  is."  He 
stood  watching  whilst  Jake  steered. 

That  individual,  despite  the  shove  he  had 
received,  seemed  to  bear  no  malice.  Absolutely 
unperturbed  he  stood  with  his  hands  on  the 
spokes,  chewing,  his  eye  wandering  from  the  bin- 
nacle to  the  luff  of  the  mainsail. 

"Whar's  the  Jack?"  he  suddenly  asked,  turn- 
ing to  spit  into  the  starboard  scupper. 

"What  were  you  doing  with  that  gang?" 
countered  Hank. 

' '  Me !  Them  guys  ?  Why,  you  saw  what  I  was 
doin,'  keepin'  ship,  \vhiles  they  went  ashore. 
What  were  you  doin'  with  them!" 

"Mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  know  why  they  went 
ashore?" 

"Me!    nuthin'.     I'm    only    a    foremast    hand, 


JAKE  237 

signed  on  'cause  I  was  out  of  a  job.  I  saw  you  all 
scutterin'  about  on  shore,  then  you  comes  off  and 
takes  the  ship — that's  all  I  know." 

"Look  here,"  said  Hank.  "D'you  mean  to  tell 
me  you  didn't  put  the  McGinnis  crowd  on  to  us 
before  we  left  'Frisco?  D'you  mean  to  say  you 
weren't  on  the  wharf  that  night  when  Black 
Mullins  dropped  aboard  and  peeked  through  the 
skylight  and  saw  Mr.  Candon?" 

"Me.  Which?  Me!  N'  more  than  Adam. 
You're  talkin'  French." 

"Don't  bother  with  him,"  said  George.  "Come 
on  down  below  and  let's  see  what  it's  like." 

They  left  the  deck  to  Jake,  still  chewing,  and 
came  down  the  companion  way  to  the  cabin, 
where  McGinnis  and  his  afterguard  had  dwelt. 

Bunks  with  tossed  blankets  appeared  on  either 
side;  aft  lay  the  captain's  cabin,  door  open  and 
an  oilskin  swinging  like  a  corpse  from  a  nail; 
above,  and  through  the  atmosphere  of  must  and 
bad  tobacco,  came  the  smell  of  the  Heart,  a  per- 
fume of  shark  oil,  ineradicable,  faint,  but  unfor- 
gettable, once  smelt. 

George  opened  the  portholes  and  Tommie  took 
her  seat  on  a  bunk  edge,  looking  round  her  but 
saying  nothing. 

A  cheap  brass  lamp  swung  from  the  beam 
above  the  table,  the  table  was  covered  with  white 
marbled  oilcloth,  stained  and  stamped  with  in- 
numerable ring  marks  from  the  bottoms  of  coffee 
cups ;  about  the  whole  place  was  that  atmosphere 


238  VANDERDECKEN 

of  sordidness  and  misery  that  man  alone  can 
create. 

Tommie  sat  absorbing  it,  whilst  Hank  and 
George  explored  lockers  and  investigated  McGiii- 
nis'  cabin.  Then  she  rose  and  took  off  her  coat. 

She  stripped  the  oilcloth  from  the  table,  said, 
"Faugh!"  rolled  it  up  and  flung  it  on  the  floor. 

"Say!"  cried  she,  "isn't  there  any  soap  in  this 
hooker?" 

"Soap!"  cried  Hank,  appearing  from  McGin- 
nis'  cabin,  carrying  the  log  book  and  a  tin  box. 
"I  dunno.  Jake  will  know." 

"Go  up  and  send  him  down.  You  can  take  the 
wheel  for  a  minute  whilst  I  get  this  place  clean — 
Goodness!" 

"You  wait,"  said  Hank. 

He  went  on  deck,  followed  by  George,  and  next 
minute  Jake  appeared. 

Despite  Tommie 's  get-up,  he  had  spotted  her 
for  a  girl  when  she  came  on  board.  Not  being  a 
haunter  of  the  pictures  he  had  not  recognised 
her;  what  she  was,  or  where  she  had  come  from, 
he  could  not  imagine — or  what  she  wanted  of 
him.  He  was  soon  to  learn. 

"Take  off  your  hat,"  said  Tommie.  "Now, 
then,  get  me  some  soap  and  a  scrubbing  brush,  if 
there  is  such  a  thing  on  this  dirty  ship." 

"Soap!"  said  Jake. 

"Yes,  soap." 

He  turned  and  went  on  deck  and  came  back  in 
a  minute  or  so  with  a  tin  of  soft  soap  and  a  mop. 


JAKE  239 

"I  said  scrubbing  brush." 

"Ain't  none." 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  make  the  mop  do.  Now 
go  and  fetch  a  bucket  of  water. ' ' 

"Ain't  enough  on  board  for  swillin'." 

"There's  enough  in  the  sea.  We  must  make  it 
do.  Go  on  and  don't  stand  there  scratching  your 
head." 

Hank,  leaving  George  at  the  wheel  and  coming 
down  half  an  hour  later  to  see  what  was  going  on, 
returned  jubilant. 

"She's  working  that  gink  like  a  house  maid, 
he's  washed  the  table  an's  scrubbing  the  floor 
and  she's  stripping  the  blankets  off  the  bunks. 
She's  going  to  make  him  wash  them.  She's  a 
peach." 

The  tin  box  with  the  ship's  money,  some  thou- 
sand dollars,  and  the  log  lay  on  the  deck.  He 
placed  them  on  one  side  and  then  stood  erect  and 
walked  to  the  rail.  He  gazed  aft  at  the  far-away 
shore  as  if  visualising  something  there. 

"Bud." 

"Yep?" 

"Nothing's  ever  got  me  like  she  has,  right  by 
the  neck.  I  reckon  it's  a  punishment  on  me  for 
having  invented  rat  traps." 

"Oh,  don't  be  an  ass." 

"Easy  to  say  that." 

"Have  you  told  her?" 

"Lord,  no." 


240  VANDERDECKEN 

"Well,  go  down  and  tell  her  and  get  it  over, 
same  as  sea  sickness." 

"Bud,  I  could  no  more  tell  her  than  I  could 
walk  into  a  blazing  fiery  furnace  like  those  chaps 
in  the  Scriptures." 

"Why?" 

"Because,  Bud  —  well,  there's  two  reasons. 
First  of  all  she'd  laugh  at  me,  maybe." 

"She  would,  sure." 

"And  then — there's  a  girl — " 

"Yes." 

"A  girl — another  girl." 

"Mrs.  Driscoll?" 

"Oh.  Lord,  no,  she  ain't  a  girl.  This  one  I'm 
telling  you  of  is  running  a  little  store  of  her  own 
in  Cable  Street,  kind  of  fancy  work  business — 
I've  known  her  a  year.  O'Brien  is  her  name, 
Zillah  O'Brien.  She's  running  a  fancy  work — " 

"I  know,  you've  told  me;  are  you  engaged  to 
her!" 

"Well,  we've  been  keeping  company,"  said 
Hank,  "and  it  amounts  to  that." 

"You  mean  you  are — then  you've  no  right  to 
bother  about  Tommie." 

"It's  she  that's  bothering  me." 

"Well,  you  may  make  your  mind  easy.  So  far 
as  I  can  see  she's  harpooned — that  fellow  har- 
pooned her." 

"B.  C.?" 

"Yep,  remember  her  face  when  he  ran  away? 
And  ever  since  she  hasn't  been  the  same — " 


JAKE  241 

Hank  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"But,  Bud,  she  couldn't  care  for  him  after  the 
way  he's  landed  us?" 

"No,  but  she  cared  for  him  before,  and  maybe 
she  cares  for  him  still,  Lord  only  knows — women 
are  funny  things.  Anyhow,  you've  no  right  to 
think  of  her  with  that  other  girl  in  tow.  Why, 
Hank,  you've  always  been  going  on  about  women 
being  saints  and  all  that  and  now,  you  old  double- 
dealing — " 

"It  isn't  me,"  said  Hank.  "I  guess  it's  human 
nature.  But  I'll  bite  on  the  bullet — after  all  it's 
not  so  much  as  a  girl  I  care  for  her,  but  just  for 
herself." 

"Well,  bite  on  what's  her  name  as  well — 
Beliah— " 

"Zillah." 

"All  the  same,  keep  thinking  of  her — and  catch 
hold  of  the  wheel.  I  want  a  quiet  smoke." 

Half  an  hour  later  Jake  wandered  on  deck  with 
the  mop  and  the  bucket.  He  look  subdued,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  Tommie's  head  and  shoulders 
appeared. 

"The  place  is  pretty  clean  now,"  said  T.  C. 
"Maybe  some  of  you  will  get  at  where  the  food's 
stowed  and  find  out  what  we  can  have  to  eat.  I'm 
going  along  to  the  galley  to  get  the  fire  on." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

SANTANDER  ROCK 

THE  wind  held  steady  all  that  day  and  half 
the  following  night,  then  it  died  to  a  tepid 
breeze  just  sufficient  to  keep  steerage  way 
on  the  schooner. 

Hank  was  the  first  up  in  the  morning,  relieving 
George  at  the  wheel. 

After  supper,  on  the  night  before,  they  had 
made  a  plan,  based  on  the  fact  that  there  were 
provisions  on  board  enough  for  a  three  months' 
cruise  for  four  people.  This  plan  was  simple 
enough.  They  would  put  out  far  to  avoid  the 
Islands  and  any  bother  of  complications.  Hank's 
idea  was  to  strike  a  course  nor 'west  to  a  point 
midway  between  Honolulu  and  San  Francisco, 
and  then  make  directly  for  the  city  of  the  Golden 
Gate.  They  would  tell  Tyrebuck  the  truth,  but  it 
would  be  no  sin  to  delude  the  gaping  public  with 
a  Hank  constructed  yarn,  sure  that  McGinnis  or 
his  relations  would  never  dispute  it.  The  only 
bother  was  that  Tyrebuck  would  want  his  ten 
thousand  dollars.  If  the  Wear  Jack  had  been 
wrecked,  all  would  have  been  well,  for  the  insur- 

242 


SANTANDER  ROCK  243 

ance  people  would  have  paid,  but  they  had  just 
lost  her,  as  a  person  might  lose  a  horse  or  a  motor 
car. 

"Of  course,"  said  Hank,  "there  was  no  agree- 
ment with  him.  Who'd  have  ever  imagined  such 
a  thing  as  our  losing  her  like  that?  All  the  same, 
I've  got  to  pay  old  man  Tyrebuck,  it's  a  debt  of 
honour.  I'll  have  to  mortgage  the  trap  that's 
all." 

"I'll  go  half,"  said  George. 

"No,  you  won't.  I  was  the  borrower,  this  ex- 
pedition was  mine.  If  I'd  got  the  twenty-five 
thousand  reward,  I'd  have  stuck  to  it." 

"Say,"  said  George. 

"Yep." 

"You  told  me  you'd  written  a  story  once." 

"What  about  it?" 

"Well,  write  the  whole  of  this  expedition  up 
and  sell  it  to  a  magazine,  if  you  want  money. ' ' 

"  B '  gosh ! "  said  Hank, ' '  that 's  not  a  bad  idea- 
only  it  would  give  the  show  away." 

"Not  a  bit,  pretend  it's  fiction." 

"It  sounds  like  fiction,"  said  Tommie.  "I 
don't  mind.  You  can  stick  me  in  as  much  as  you 
like." 

"I'll  do  it,  maybe,"  said  Hank. 

But  there  was  another  point.  Wallack's  and 
their  wrecked  junk,  arid  Tommie  and  her  story. 
The  public  would  want  to  know  the  particulars 
of  her  abduction  and  Wallack's  would  want  com- 
pensation. Althusen  and  Moscovitch  and  Mrs. 


244,  VANDERDECKEN 

Raphael  would  not  be  behindhand  in  their  wants, 
either. 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  said  Miss  Coulthurst. 
"When  we  get  to  San  Francisco,  just  let  me  slip 
on  shore,  and  I'll  take  the  first  train  to  Los 
Angeles  and  I'll  fix  it.  I'll  tell  old  Wallack  the 
whole  truth.  He  won't  want  compensation.  I 
guess  the  advertisement  he's  had  will  be  enough 
for  him,  and  the  film  wasn't  damaged;  the  reel 
was  safe  in  one  of  those  tents." 

They  left  it  at  that,  ignorant  of  the  new 
development  impending. 

Hank  took  the  wheel  and  George  snuffed  out 
the  binnacle  lights.  It  was  day,  though  the  sun 
had  not  yet  broken  the  morning  bank  on  the  east- 
ern horizon. 

"There's  a  big  rock  on  the  port  bow,"  said 
George,  "away  over  there.  It's  the  Santander, 
I  believe — remember?  It's  on  the  chart." 

"Where's  Jake?" 

"Eight,"  said  Hank.  "Where's  Jake?  I  let 
him  turn  in  ten  minutes  ago,  he's  in  the  focs'le." 

"Well,  I'll  go  and  make  some  coffee,"  said 
George.  "Keep  her  as  she  goes." 

He  disappeared,  and  Hank,  left  alone,  stood  at 
the  wheel,  the  warm  wind  gently  lifting  his  hair 
and  his  hawk  eyes  wandering  from  the  binnacle 
to  the  far  off  rock  and  from  the  rock  to  the  sea 
line. 

Ten  minutes  passed  and  then  George  appeared, 
a  cup  of  coffee  in  his  hand. 


SANTANDER   ROCK  245 

"Shove  her  on  the  deck  for  a  minute,"  said 
Hank,  "and  have  a  look  with  those  binoculars. 
Something  funny  about  that  rock,  seems  to  me." 

George  placed  the  cup  on  the  deck,  fetched  the 
old  binoculars  Jake  had  been  using  the  day  before, 
and  leveled  them  at  the  rock. 

"Ship  piled  on  the  north  side,"  said  George.  "I 
can  see  the  masts;  some  sort  of  small  hooker  or 
another.  It's  the  Santander  rock,  can't  be  any- 
thing else,  there's  nothing  else  of  any  size  marked 
down  just  here  but  the  Tres  Marias  Island,  and 
they  are  to  the  south." 

"Well,  we'll  have  a  look  at  her,"  said  Hank. 
"There's  maybe  some  poor  devils  on  board.  She's 
flying  no  signals,  is  she!" 

"No,  she's  signal  enough  in  herself." 

Just  then  Tommie  came  on  deck. 

She  had  a  look  through  the  binoculars  and  then 
went  off  to  the  galley  with  George  to  see  about 
breakfast.  There  were  plenty  of  provisions  on 
the  Heart;  McGinnis  and  his  crew  had  evidently 
plenty  of  cash  or  credit,  to  judge  by  the  condition 
of  the  lazarette  and  store  room,  and  when  Tom- 
mie and  George  had  satisfied  their  wants,  Hank, 
giving  them  the  deck,  came  down. 

When  he  returned  on  deck,  the  schooner  was 
closing  up  with  the  rock  and  the  wreck  was 
plainly  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  with  the  gulls 
shouting  around  her. 

The  Santander  rock,  shaped  and  spired  like  a 
cathedral,  runs  north  and  south,  three  hundred 


246  VANDERDECKEN 

yards  long,  two  hundred  feet  high,  caved  here  and 
there  by  the  sea  and  worn  by  wind  and  rain  into 
ledges  and  depressions  where  the  gulls  roost — 
where  they  have  roosted  for  ten  thousand  years. 

It  is  the  top  of  a  big  submarine  mountain  that 
rises  gradually  from  the  depth  of  a  mile.  Quite  in 
shore,  on  the  northern  side,  the  lead  gives  a  depth 
of  only  twenty  fathoms,  gradually  deepening,  as 
you  put  away,  by  five  fathoms  to  the  hundred 
yards,  till  suddenly  the  lead  finds  nothing.  There 
must  be  a  sheer,  unimaginable  cliff  just  there, 
some  three  quarters  of  a  mile  high ! 

It  was  on  the  north  side  of  this  great  rock, 
which  is  at  once  a  monstrous  and  a  tragic  figure, 
that  the  wreck  was  skewered,  listing  to  starboard, 
her  sticks  still  standing  but  her  canvas  unstowed. 
The  crew  had  evidently  piled  her  there,  perhaps 
in  the  dark. 

Now,  drawing  close  to  her,  that  stern  seemed 
familiar,  and  the  fact  that  she  was  a  yacht  became 
apparent.  It  was  Hank  who  voiced  the  growing 
conviction  in  their  minds. 

"Boys!"  cried  Hank,  "she's  the  Wear  Jack!" 

George  and  Tommie  were  the  only  boys  on  that 
deck  beside  himself,  but  Tommie  did  not  laugh. 
She  heaved  a  deep  breath  and  stood  with  her 
hands  on  the  rail  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  wreck. 

"She  is,"  said  George.  "Look  at  her  paint. 
Lord,  this  is  lovely,  that  fellow  has  piled  her." 

"And  got  off  in  the  boat,"  said  Hank.    "The 


SANTANDER  ROCK  247 

boat's  gone.  They'd  have  easy  lowered  her  over 
the  starboard  side." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  the  other. 
"Shall  we  board  her?" 

"Sure,"  said  Hank.  "Roust  out  Jake  and  get 
ready  to  drop  the  hook  if  we  can  find  anchorage. 
Get  the  lead  ready." 

George  ran  to  the  foc'sle  and  rousted  out  Jake 
who  came  on  deck  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"Why  there's  the — old  Jack,"  cried  he. 
* '  Piled ! ' '  He  clapped  his  hand  on  his  thigh,  then 
fetched  the  lead  at  the  order  of  Hank  and  hove  it. 

Forty  fathoms  rocky  bottom,  was  the  result. 
Then,  as  they  came  slowly  up,  the  depth  shoaled. 

"Get  ready  with  the  anchor,"  cried  Hank.  He 
brought  the  Heart  along  till  they  were  almost 
abreast  of  the  wreck,  and  at  a  safe  distance,  then, 
in  thirty  fathoms,  the  anchor  was  dropped  and  the 
Heart  slowly  swung  to  her  moorings. 

The  dinghy  was  lowered  and  Hank  and  George 
got  in. 

Yes,  it  was  the  Wear  Jack  right  enough,  lying 
there  like  a  stricken  thing,  the  gentle  list  bringing 
her  starboard  rail  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  blue 
lapping  swell.  Gaffs  brought  down  on  the  booms, 
booms  unsupported  by  the  topping  lifts,  boat 
gone,  she  made  a  picture  of  desolation  and 
abandonment  unforgettable,  seen  there  against  the 
grim  gray  background  of  the  rock. 

"Well,  he's  made  a  masterpiece  of  it,"  said 


248  VANDERDECKEN 

Hank  as  they  tied  on  and  scrambled  on  board. 
"He  sure  has." 

They  were  turning  aft  along  the  slanting  deck 
when  up  through  the  cabin  hatch  came  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  a  man,  a  man  rubbing  sleep  from 
his  eyes.  It  was  Candon. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

"CANDON" 

CANDON — deserted  by  the  Chinks  just  as  he 
had  deserted  his  companions  on  the  beach. 
4 'It's  him — the  scoundrel,"  cried  Hank. 

Candon,  as  startled  as  themselves,  wild-eyed 
and  just  roused  from  profound  sleep,  standing 
now  on  deck  staring  at  Hank,  took  the  insult  right 
in  his  teeth. 

He  drew  back  a  bit,  glanced  over,  saw  the 
Heart  and  turned  to  George. 

"What's  this?"  said  Candon.  "Where  the 
hell  have  you  come  from?" 

"Where  you  left  us  stranded  on  that  beach," 
replied  George.  "Where  you  left  us  when  you 
beat  it  with  the  ship  and  the  boodle." 

Candon 's  face  blazed  up  for  a  second.  Then  he 
got  a  clutch  on  himself  and  seemed  to  bottle  his 
pride  and  his  anger.  He  folded  his  arms  and 
stared  at  the  deck  planking  without  speaking.  He 
rocked  slightly  as  he  stood,  as  though  unsure  of 
his  balance.  He  seemed  to  have  no  sense  of 
shame.  Caught  and  confronted  with  his  deed,  he 
did  not  seem  even  to  be  searching  for  excuses. 

249 


250  VANDERDECKEN 

There  was  a  frown  on  his  brow  and  his  lips  were 
compressed. 

Suddenly  he  spoke. 

"Well,"  said  Candon,  "you've  given  me  a 
name,  what  more  have  you  to  say?" 

"Nothing,"  said  George. 

Candon  turned,  spat  viciously  over  the  rail  and 
laughed,  an  odious  sneering  laugh  that  raised  the 
bristles  on  Hank. 

"It's  easy  to  laugh,"  said  Hank,  "but  it's  no 
laughing  matter  to  us.  We've  lost  the  Wear  Jack, 
we've  lost  the  boodle,  we've  lost  our  time,  and 
we've  been  played  a  damn  dirty  trick,  about  as 
dirty  as  the  trick  the  Chinks  seem  to  have  played 
on  you." 

Candon  was  not  laughing  now.  He  had  turned 
to  the  starboard  rail  and  was  standing  looking  at 
the  Heart.  Tommie  on  the  deck  was  clearly  visi- 
ble. She  was  looking  at  the  Wear  Jack;  then  she 
turned  away  and  went  below,  as  though  to  escape 
from  the  sight  of  him. 

Candon  gripped  the  rail  tighter  and  heaved  a 
deep  breath.  He  turned  to  the  others. 

"So  I've  played  you  a  dirty  trick,"  said  Can- 
don. "Well,  if  I  hadn't  you'd  have  suspected  me 
all  the  same,  you'd  never  have  said  to  yourselves 
maybe  he  didn't,  let's  ask  him " 

"Ask  him,"  said  Hank.  "What's  the  use,  but  I 
ask  you  now — Did  you  take  that  boat  and  go  off 
to  the  Wear  Jack  for  those  automatics,  leaving  us 


"CANDON"  251 

there  on  that  beach  without  pistols  or  means  of 
fighting  if  .the  Mexicans  came  ? ' ' 

"I  did,"  said  Candon,  a  curious  light  in  his 
blue  eyes. 

"Did  you  sail  off  and  leave  us  there?" 

"I  did." 

"Well  then,  there's  no  use  talking." 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  George. 

"You  finished?"  asked  Candon. 

"Yep." 

"Well  then,  that's  Pat  McGinnis'  boat,  he's 
been  down  to  the  bay,  must  have  been  or  you 
wouldn't  have  collared  it.  What've  you  done 
with  him?" 

"That's  nothing  to  you,"  said  Hank. 

"A  minute,"  said  George.  "We've  left  him 
and  his  men  there  and  we  collared  his  boat,  but 
we  played  the  game  he  forced  on  us,  and  we 
played  it  straight." 

"So  you  say,"  said  Candon.  "How'm  I  to 
know?" 

"You  suspect  us !"  fired  Hank. 

"And  why  not?  You  suspected  me,  the  whole 
three  of  you  jumped  on  me  like  this  directly  you 
came  on  board,  never  asked  a  question,  not  you, 
because  you  weren't  true  friends,  hadn't  the 
makin's  of  friendship  in  you,  never  asked  for 
reasons. ' ' 

Hank  flushed.  "Good  Lord!"  said  he,  "you 
mean  to  say  you  had  a  reason  for  leaving  us  like 
that?" 


262  VANDERDECKEN 

"No,  I  hadn't/'  replied  the  other,  "but  that's 
nothing.  It's  nothing  if  I'm  the  biggest  black- 
guard on  earth,  as  I  intend  to  be.  What's  the 
good  of  being  honest  when  you're  written  down  a 
rogue  out  of  hand  the  first  traverse  that  seems 
suspicious — even  if  you  are  a  rogue.  Why,  God 
bless  my  soul,  them  diamonds,  you  wouldn't  trust 
them  on  the  beach  with  me>  you  must  take  and 
shove  them  aboard  the  Jack." 

"I  never  thought  of  you,"  said  Hank.  "I  was 
thinking  of  the  Mexicans  coming  down  on  us." 

"Maybe,"  said  Candon.  "So  you  say,  but 
how'm  I  to  know."  He  spoke  with  extraordinary 
bitterness.  To  George  the  whole  thing  was  beyond 
words,  the  evidence  of  a  mentality  bordering  on 
the  insane.  Here  was  a  man  guilty  of  the  betrayal 
of  his  companions,  guilty  of  leaving  them 
marooned  on  a  hostile  beach,  yet  not  only  un- 
ashamed but  highly  indignant  that  they  should 
have  suspected  him  and  declared  him  guilty  off- 
hand. It  was  true  there  was  something  in  what 
he  said ;  they  had  taken  his  action  as  the  action  of 
a  rogue  almost  from  the  first,  but  they  could  not 
have  done  otherwise. 

He  was  determined  to  put  this  point  right. 
"Look  here,"  he  said,  "we  might  have  thought 
you  put  off  for  some  reason  other  than  making 
away  with  that  boodle,  if  you  hadn't  said  you 
were  going  to  leave  us." 

* '  I  said  I  was  going  to  stick  in  Mexico, ' '  replied 
Candon.  "But  there's  no  use  in  talking  any  more. 


"CANDON"  253 

Question  is,  what  to  do  now.  I  can't  stick  here 
and  I  don't  want  to  go  on  the  Heart,  unless  I 
berth  forward  and  help  to  work  the  ship.  You 
can  put  me  ashore  somewhere." 

"You'll  have  to  berth  with  Jake,"  said  Hank. 
"He's  the  fellow  that  was  on  the  quay  that  night 
we  put  off  and  gave  the  show  away  to  McGinnis. ' ' 

"He'll  do,"  said  Candon,  "I  reckon  he's  good 
enough  for  me. ' ' 

"Well,  you'd  better  get  your  things  then," 
said  George. 

They  went  down  into  the  cabin  one  after  the 
other,  Candon  leading. 

The  first  things  that  struck  Hank's  eyes,  were 
the  automatic  pistols  lying  on  the  tray  shelf 
where  he  had  seen  them  last. 

Hank  went  to  his  bunk  where  he  had  hid  the 
diamonds.  The  parcel  was  gone. 

"I  suppose  the  Chinks  took  the  boodle  as  well 
as  the  boat,"  said  he. 

"That's  so,"  replied  Candon. 

"Seems  to  me  you  didn't  make  much  of  a  fight, 
seeing  you  had  those  pistols." 

"I  didn't  make  any  fight  at  all." 

Hank  sniffed.  George  said  nothing.  They 
were  busy  now  collecting  their  property.  The 
Chinks  had  touched  nothing  but  the  diamonds. 
Hadn't  time,  most  likely,  to  think  of  anything 
but  escape  from  the  wreck,  and  the  chance  of 
being  found  by  some  ship  on  the  vessel  they  had 
helped  Candon  to  run  away  with. 


254  VANDERDECKEN 

"What  made  you  show  them  the  diamonds?" 
asked  Hank,  as  he  stuffed  Tommie's  possessions 
into  a  bag. 

"I  didn't,"  said  Candon. 

"Then  who  told  them?" 

"The  man  who  brought  them  on  board." 

"That  was  me.    I  said  nothing." 

He  remembered  how  Tommie  had  put  the 
things  on  and  how  the  two  Chinks  had  seen  her. 
They  had  rowed  him  off  with  the  package  and 
might  have  given  the  news  to  the  others.  How- 
ever, it  didn't  matter  much  and  he  was  inclined 
for  no  more  talk  with  B.  C.  He  felt  he  had  low- 
ered himself  already  by  speaking  of  the  matter  at 
all  to  the  fellow. 

Then  they  put  the  dunnage  on  deck  and 
transshipped  it  in  two  journeys  to  the  Heart. 
Tommie  was  on  deck  again  when  Candon  came  on 
board.  She  just  nodded  to  him,  and  then  turned 
to  help  getting  the  things  down  to  the  cabin. 
Candon 's  lot  went  into  the  foc'sle.  Then  he,  Jake 
and  George  set  to  on  the  windlass,  getting  the 
anchor  chain  in. 

It  was  the  queerest  and  weirdest  business,  for 
B.  C.  showed  neither  shame  nor  irritation  nor 
anger.  A  tremendous  placidity  seemed  to  have 
fallen  upon  him,  almost  a  mild  cheerfulness.  He 
worked  away  and  spoke  to  no  one,  he  might  have 
been  an  absolute  stranger,  a  new  hand  just  signed 
on. 

When  the  Heart  was  under  way,  Hank  and 


"CANDON"  255 

George  picked  watches.  Hank  had  first  call  and 
picked  Jake.  George  said  nothing.  Candon  had 
fallen  to  him  automatically. 

Then  Candon  went  down  into  the  foc'sle  to 
arrange  his  things  and  see  after  his  bunk  and 
with  Hank  at  the  wheel,  the  schooner  lay  again  on 
her  old  course,  the  far-off  crying  of  the  gulls 
round  Santander  rock  following  them  like  the 
voice  of  mockery. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

JAKE  IS  FIBED  AGAIN 

THEY  had  left  Cancer  far  behind,  they  had 
rejected  Hank's  first  idea  of  steering  out 
towards  Honolulu  and  then  making  aboard 
for  'Frisco,  they  were  taking  the  shortest  way 
possible  home,  shaving  the  Channel  Islands  and 
almost  careless  about  being  stopped.  They  wanted 
to  finish  the  voyage  as  quickly  as  possible.  Candon 
there  in  the  foc'sle  made  his  presence  felt  right 
through  the  ship.  It  was  as  though  he  had  died 
and  his  ghost  were  haunting  them.  He  never 
spoke  unless  in  reply  to  orders.  He  seemed  living 
in  a  world  of  his  own,  a  silent  secretive  world 
where  emotions  were  not.  They  began  to  appreci- 
ate the  fact  that  they  had  shipped  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, not  an  ordinary  sailor  man  with  blue  eyes, 
but  a  personality  absolutely  outside  the  ambit  of 
ordinary  experience. 

''It's  getting  on  my  spine,"  said  Hank  one  day, 
as  he  sat  in  the  fusty  cabin  smoking  with  George. 
* '  The  man  seems  gone  dead,  no  shame  or  nothing, 
just  as  if  he'd  never  seen  us  before ;  unless  he  gets 
an  order,  and  then  he  jumps  to  it.'* 

256 


JAKE  IS  FIRED  AGAIN  257 

"It's  got  on  T.  C.'s  spine,  too,"  said  George. 
4 'Damn  him,  she's  not  the  same.  I  see  her  staring 
in  front  of  her  sometimes  as  if  she  was  looking  at 
ghosts.  She  never  laughs  and  she 's  off  her  feed. ' ' 

"He's  worse  than  a  cargo  of  skeletons,"  said 
Hank,  "and  I've  noticed  T.  C.  I'm  not  thinking 
any  more  of  her,  Bud,  in  that  way,  but  it  gets  me 
to  see  her  crumpled.  What  are  women  made  of, 
anyhow?  Seems  to  me  if  they  once  get  gone  on  a 
man  they  go  clean  mushy  for  good — and  such  a 
man!  Why,  I  heard  Jake  joshing  him  in  the 
foc'sle  only  yesterday — Jake — and  he  took  it  like 
a  lamb.  Gets  me." 

He  got  up  and  took  some  little  photographs 
from  a  locker.  They  had  salved  George's  kodak 
and  developer  from  the  Wear  Jack,  and  Hank, 
just  before  starting,  had  taken  half  a  dozen  snaps 
of  the  Jack  lying  piled  on  the  rocks.  He  had  done 
this  for  no  sentimental  reasons,  but  as  evidence 
whereby  Tyrebuck  could  collect  his  insurance 
money.  He  looked  at  them  now  with  glowing 
satisfaction.  They  were  the  only  bright  spots  in 
this  new  business. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "there's  one  thing.  I  won't 
have  to  pay  Tyrebuck  his  ten  thousand.  Luck|s 
been  playing  pretty  dirty  tricks  on  us,  but  she's 
let  up  for  once,  unless  she  piles  us  same  as  she 
did  the  Jack." 

Keeping  as  they  were,  well  to  outward  of  the 
longitude  of  Guadeloupe,  there  was  little  fear  of 
them  hitting  anything  except  a,  derelict.  They, 


258  VANDERDECKEN 

passed  and  were  passed  by  vessels,  tanks  and 
great  four-masters,  battered  by  Cape  Horn  or 
making  south  to  meet  him.  The  traffic  has  in- 
creased now-a-days  in  the  waters  between  Pan- 
ama and  San  Francisco;  it  has  decreased  between 
Panama  and  the  Horn,  and  is  decreasing.  The 
Horn,  that  frightful  criminal  standing  there  fac- 
ing the  ceaseless  march  of  the  mountainous 
waves,  and  countered  by  the  canal,  has  come  to 
recognise  the  hatred  of  man.  Day  by  day  the 
ships  that  pass  him  grow  fewer,  till  a  day  may 
come  when  they  cease,  leaving  him  in  loneliness 
forever. 

On  the  day  that  they  passed  the  latitude  of 
Santa  Catalina  Island  out  of  sight  far  to  star- 
board, an  incident  occurred. 

Hank  had  already  noticed  the  attitude  of  Jake 
towards  Candon.  Jake  had  evidently  been  put- 
ting two  and  two  together,  and  arriving  at  con- 
clusions not  far  wrong.  The  attitude  of  the  after- 
guard towards  B.  C.  completed  the  matter. 

On  this  day,  Hank,  coming  up  to  relieve  George 
at  the  wheel,  found  Tommie  talking  to  George; 
at  the  same  moment  Jake  rose  from  the  foc'sle 
hatch  to  relieve  Candon.  Candon 's  back  was 
turned  to  Jake  who  wished  to  pass  him. 

"Now  then,  you  big  stiff,"  cried  Jake,  "shift 
yourself,  will  you  ? ' ' 

Then  the  explosion  came. 

Candon  wheeled.  Next  moment  Jake,  caught  by 
the  waistband,  went  flying  over  the  port  rail, 


JAKE  IS  FIRED  AGAIN  259 

tossed  away  like  a  rag  doll ;  the  next,  Candon  was 
after  him;  the  next,  the  Heart  of  Ireland,  answer- 
ing to  the  helm,  was  turning  and  coming  up  into 
the  wind  with  all  her  canvas  thrashing. 

"Over  with  the  dinghy,"  cried  George,  giving 
the  wheel  to  Tommie,  and  letting  go  the  halyards. 

Tommie,  without  a  word,  watched,  as  the  two 
men  got  the  dinghy  afloat.  Then  she  was  alone. 

She  ran  to  the  rail  for  a  moment  and  saw  away 
on  the  lifting  swell,  the  heads  of  Candon  and  Jake 
close  together,  Candon  evidently  supporting  the 
other  and  the  boat  making  straight  for  them. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  boat  was  back  and  Jake, 
half  drowned,  was  being  hauled  on  board,  Candon 
helping.  Then  Candon  took  him  down  to  the 
foc'sle  to  revive  him.  The  Heart  was  put  on  her 
course  again  and  the  incident  was  closed. 

Next  day,  Jake,  subdued,  went  on  with  his  work 
and  Candon  with  his,  absolutely  as  though  noth- 
ing had  happened. 

The  day  after  that,  with  the  American  coast 
showing  to  starboard  and  San  Francisco  not  far 
ahead,  Candon  spoke  to  Hank. 

"May  I  ask  for  the  loan  of  your  stylographic 
pen?"  said  Candon. 

"Sure,"  said  Hank.  "Do  you  want  some 
paper?" 

"I  was  going  to  ask  for  some,"  said  the  other. 

Hank  went  below  and  fetched  up  a  wad  of  note 
paper,  some  envelopes  and  the  pen. 

"Thanks,"  said  Candon,  and  went  off  to  the 
foc'sle.  It  was  his  watch  below. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  ANCHOR  TAKES  THE  MUD 

SOME  days  later  towards  noon,  the  Heart  of 
Ireland,  with  the   north-west  wind   and   a 
flooding    tide,    was    making    to    enter    the 
Golden  Gate. 

It  was  a  perfect  day.  Tamalpais,  on  the  port 
bow,  showred  clear  against  a  diamond-bright  blue 
sky ;  astern  lay  the  sea  of  adventure  and  romance, 
blue  as  when  first  sighted  by  Balboa. 

.Hank  was  at  the  wheel  and  feeling  pretty 
nervous  of  the  bar,  when  Candon,  who  had  just 
come  on  deck,  came  aft. 

1  'I'll  take  you  in,"  said  Candon.  He  took  the 
spokes,  and  Hank,  walking  to  the  starboard  rail, 
stood  close  to  George  watching  the  land. 

Then  they  moved  a  bit  more  forward  to  talk. 

''What's  T.  C.  doing?"  asked  Hank. 

"Down  below,"  said  George,  "getting  things 
together.  She's  not  likely  to  come  up  till  he's 
off." 

"You've  fixed  things  up  with  him?" 

"Yep.  We'll  drop  anchor  off  Tiburon,  I'll  row 
him  ashore  in  the  dinghy.  Wouldn't  take  money. 


THE   ANCHOR   TAKES  THE   MUD  261 

says  he's  got  twenty  dollars  and  it's  all  he  wants. 
Lord,  Hank!  I'd  give  twenty  hundred  dollars  if 
this  hadn't  happened,  twenty  thousand,  for  I  liked 
him.  I  did.  What  is  it  makes  men  run  crooked 
who  were  built  to  run  straight?" 

"Search  me,"  said  Hank. 

The  Heart  began  to  take  the  tumble  of  the  bar. 
They  thrashed  through  and  then  came  the  old 
familiar  places,  Line  Point,  the  Presidio,  the  Bay, 
breezed  up  and  showing  the  same  old  ships  and 
traffic,  the  ferry  boats  running  like  pond  insects, 
the  junks,  the  steamers  with  rust-red  funnels,  the 
pleasure  yachts,  the  oyster  boats. 

As  they  drew  on  to  Tiburon,  a  white  steam 
yacht  passing  in  the  distance  sent  the  music 
of  a  band  along  the  breeze.  It  was  playing 
"Suwanee."  Closer  in  now,  Hank  went  below. 
Hank,  for  all  his  leathery  old  face,  was  far  more 
emotional  than  George,  and  kis  mind,  for  all  his 
will  power,  would  keep  jumping  over  the  barrier 
of  B.  C.'s  atrocious  act  to  the  old  days  when  he 
had  loved  B.  C.  as  a  man  and  brother. 

Tommie  was  in  the  after  cabin  and  invisible, 
and  Hank,  alone,  sat  down  at  the  table  and  leaned 
his  arms  on  it,  staring  at  the  grains  in  the  wood 
and  listening.  Leaning  like  this,  suddenly  a  tear 
that  seemed  in  an  awful  hurry  raced  down  his 
right  cheek;  he  did  not  know  it.  He  was  talking 
to  himself,  repeating  the  same  words  over  and 
over  again. 


262  VANDERDECKEN 

"Damn  scoundrel.  Damn  scoundrel.  Damn 
scoundrel." 

Then,  suddenly,  the  way  fell  off,  a  voice  on  deck 
gave  an  order,  and  the  sound  of  the  anchor  chain 
rasped  through  the  ship.  The  anchor  was  down. 

Other  sounds  came  that  told  him  what  was 
going  on,  then  silence. 

He  came  up.  There  was  no  one  on  deck  but 
Jake  chewing  and  spitting  over-side.  Away  on 
the  water,  making  for  the  wharf,  was  the  dinghy, 
George  rowing,  Candon  in  the  stern.  Hank  stood 
watching  for  a  moment,  calling  up  in  his  mind  the 
day  when,  talking  to  George  in  the  cabin  of  the 
Wear  Jack,  Candon  first  came  on  board.  He  could 
see  him  plainly  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  huge, 
friendly  looking,  with  those  eyes,  the  clear,  blue, 
truthful  eyes  of  a  child.  He  called  up  all  those 
discussions  of  an  evening  when  George  was  ashore 
and  Candon  hiding  from  McGinnis  and  his  men, 
those  long  talks  covering  the  world  and  men  and 
women — including  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox.  The 
thing  made  him  feel  frightened  as  though  the  solid 
deck  beneath  his  feet  were  threatened  to  dissolve. 
B.  C.  had  been  in  earnest  during  those  conversa- 
tions, dead  earnest,  yet  look  what  he  had  done. 
If  that  were  so,  how  was  he,  Hank,  to  make  sure 
he  wasn't  as  bad  as  B.  C.?  Good  one  moment, 
bad  the  next?  He  tried  to  recall  all  the  mean 
things  he  had  ever  done,  going  right  back  to  his 
childhood.  He  couldn't  remember  anything  in 
particular  except  nicking  some  apples  off  a  stall. 


THE  ANCHOR  TAKES  THE  MUD  263 

Then  he  gave  up  thinking,  and  came  below,  where 
he  found  Tommie  who  had  finished  putting  things 
straight.  She  looked  pale  and  pretty  miserable 
and  Hank's  heart  went  out  to  her,  so  that  he  might 
have  revealed  what  was  in  it  only  for  his  recollec- 
tion of  Zillah  backed  by  Candon.  Providence  also 
helped,  for  at  that  moment,  through  the  open 
ports,  he  heard  a  quick  running  launch  checking 
her  speed  and  coming  washing  alongside.  A  voice 
hailed  Jake. 

"It's  the  Port  man,"  said  Hank.  He  darted 
up  to  the  companion  way,  looking  over  and  saw 
the  Port  Authority  man.  It  was  old  Captain 
Scudder,  a  friend. 

"Hullo,  Hank!"  cried  Scudder.  "Lord  bless 
my  soul,  where  have  you  sprung  from?  Where's 
the  old  Wear  Jack?" 

"Come  on  board,"  said  Hank,  helping  him  up. 
"Come  along  down — this  is  better 'n  beans. 
Thought  it  might  be  some  chap  I  didn't  know." 

"Got  the  Dutchman  I"  asked  Scudder  as  he 
came  down  the  companion  way. 

"Well,  you  might  almost  say  I  have,"  replied 
Hank,  "but  I'll  tell  you  the  yarn." 

Tommie  had  retired  into  the  after  cabin  and 
they  sat  down  whilst  Hank,  knowing  the  man  he 
was  speaking  to,  gave  his  story,  with  big  cuts  but 
all  essentials. 

"So  you  see,"  finished  Hank,  "McGinnis  is 
down  and  out,  can't  come  back  to  'Frisco  with  the 
fear  of  us  on  top  of  him.  He  was  Vanderdecken 


264.  VANDERDECKEN 

practically  speaking.  But  I've  got  some  of  his 
money  and  this  old  schooner  to  hand  over  to  his 
wife  if  he's  got  one." 

"Well,  if  you  ask  me  he's  got  a  widow,  if  I  know 
anything  of  those  Mexicans,"  replied  Scudder. 
"Yes,  he  had  a  wife,  she  lives  in  Lincoln  Street, 
and  we'll  fix  it  with  her.  Listen,  there's  a  boat 
come  alongside." 

It  was  George  returned.  He  came  down  and 
took  a  hand  whilst  they  debated  matters  with 
Scudder. 

"Take  my  advice,"  said  the  captain,  "and  keep 
your  heads  shut.  You  piled  and  lost  the  Wear  Jack 
and  came  home  in  a  schooner  that  happened  along. 
Tell  that  to  your  friends.  I'll  smother  the  yarn 
as  far  as  my  side  lies  and  I'll  look  after  Jake. 
There  is  no  use  in  stirring  up  trouble.  Why,  it 
might  mean  a  dust-up  with  Mexico.  Don't  bother 
about  being  kidded  at  not  bringing  Vanderdecken 
home.  He's  half  forgot,  there's  an  election  on — 
you  know  'Frisco.  As  for  that  movie  company 
and  the  show  of  theirs  you  bust  up — Wallack  and 
Jackson  it  was — there  was  a  big  story  about  it 
in  the  papers — but  Wallack  and  Jackson  is  bust 
themselves.  A  week  ago  they  went,  with  half  a 
dozen  others." 

"Well,  that's  a  comfort,"  said  Hank,  forget- 
ting Tommie,  and  her  means  of  livelihood. 

Then  Scudder  heaved  himself  up  and  took  his 
leave,  and  Tommie  came  out  of  the  after  cabin. 

"Say,"  Baid  Hank,  suddenly  remembering  the 


THE  ANCHOR  TAKES  THE  MUD     265 

importance  of  Scudder's  news  and  recognising  the 
gravity  of  it  to  her,  "Old  Scudder,  the  Port  man 
has  been  here  and  we've  fixed  everything  up  all 
right,  but  he's  brought  bad  news.  Your  show  has 
bust." 

"Which?"  asked  Tommie. 

"Jackson  and  what's-his-name." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  Tommie,  "it  has  been 
going  a  long  time.  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  to  me, 
I've  been  careful  and  put  by.  I've  thirty  thousand 
dollars  laid  by  with  Aunt  Coulthurst.  She  lives  in 
Montgomery  Street  and  I'm  tired  of  the  movies 
anyway.  I  want  real  life  and  I'm  going  to  get  it. " 

"How?"  asked  Hank. 

"Kanch." 

"Where?" 

"Where  I  was  born.  Texas.  There's  air  there, 
and  life." 

"Sure,  "said  Hank. 

"I'll  buy  a  ranch  and  run  it.  It's  a  better  life 
than  being  thrown  out  of  windows  for  fools  to 
look  at  or  dropping  from  aeroplanes." 

"Sure,"  said  Hank. 

"Well,"  said  Tommie,  taking  her  seat  for  a 
moment  on  a  bunk  side  and  speaking  as  if  in  a 
reverie,  "I  suppose  this  is  the  end  of  our  trip.  It's 
been  queer,  and  we've  had  tight  shaves  but  I 
wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  earths.  It's  taught 
me  more  than  I  ever  knew  and  it's  made  me  have 
no  fear  in  striking  out  for  myself  in  life.  I  was 
never  afraid  of  things,  but  I  used  to  be  frightened 


266  VANDERDECKEN 

of  life  and  what  was  to  come  the  day  after  next, 
and  I  guess  that's  clean  gone." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now,  when  you  get 
ashore?"  asked  George. 

"I'm  going  to  Aunt  Coulthurst;  16,  Montgom- 
ery Street  is  her  address,  and  don't  you  forget  it, 
and  come  and  see  us,  won't  you?" 

"Sure,"  said  Hank. 

"Come  Sunday.  You'll  love  her  and — and — " 
finished  Miss  Coulthurst,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice, 
"I  want  her  to  thank  you,  for  you've  both  been 
very — very — good  to  me." 

Hank  seemed  swallowing  something. 

"We'll  come  with  pleasure,"  said  George. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  George  took 
a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  gave  it  to  Hank.  It 
was  a  letter  Candon  had  given  him  at  parting;  it 
had  been  written  on  the  voyage  with  the  stylo- 
graph pen  he  had  borrowed  and  it  was  addressed 
to  Hank  Fisher. 

"  'Scuse  me,"  said  Hank,  and  as  Tommie  rose 
to  get  her  hat  before  going,  he  opened  the  letter 
and  began  to  read. 

He  hadn't  been  reading  long  when  his  jaw 
began  to  drop,  he  stopped  dead  and  stared  before 
him,  took  up  the  letter  again,  then  handed  it  to 
George. 

* '  That  does  me, ' '  said  Hank.  ' '  Read  it — read  it 
out — read  it. ' ' 

Tommie  stood  by  whilst  George  read  out  the 
letter. 


THE  ANCHOR  TAKES  THE  MUD     267 

This  is  a  verbatim  copy : 

"You  called  me  a  scoundrel.  I  am,  maybe, 
but  not  the  way  you  meant.  Bight  away  from 
the  first  you  said  to  yourselves,  the  whole 
three  of  you,  that  this  fellow  Candon  had  let 
you  down,  gone  off  with  the  ship  and  boodle. 
You  asked  me  had  I  gone  aboard  for  those 
pistols,  and  I  said  I  had.  You  asked  me  had 
I  sailed  off  and  left  you  and  I  said  I  had.  You 
asked  me  had  I  any  reason  for  going,  mean- 
ing, in  your  left-handed  way,  was  I  a  black- 
guard or  not,  and  I  said  I  hadn't.  I  hadn't. 
I  was  took. 

"I'll  tell  you.  When  I  left  the  beach  that 
night  and  got  the  Chinks  to  row  me  aboard 
for  those  automatics,  I  found  the  cabin  on 
board  lit,  the  bunk  bedding  all  pulled  about 
and  everything  upside  down  and  Charlie 
down  there  putting  things  to  rights.  I  said 
to  myself,  that's  Hank's  work,  the  Chinks 
have  nosed  the  diamonds  and  been  on  the 
search,  and  got  them,  to  judge  by  the  mess 
they've  made.  I  saw  it  was  serious  but  said 
nothing,  went  to  the  locker  for  the  guns  and 
whilst  my  back  was  turned,  Charlie  slipped 
on  deck.  The  guns  were  there,  the  Chinks 
had  been  too  busy  to  hunt  for  them.  I  took 
one  of  the  automatics  and  saw  it  was  loaded. 
As  I  was  handling  it,  I  heard  the  door  of  the 
cabin  hatch  shut  and  knew  at  once  I  was 
bottled  and  cursed  myself  for  being  such  a 


268  VAXDERDECKEN 

fool  and  not  getting  on  deck  quicker.  I  re- 
membered the  galley  hatch  and  made  for  it, 
nearly  killing  myself  against  the  foc'sle  bulk- 
head. The  galley  hatch  was  shut.  I  made 
back  for  the  cabin  and  tried  to  burst  the  door. 
It  was  held  like  a  rock  by  the  bolts  and  some- 
thing shoved  against  it.  I  thought  of  firing 
an  automatic  out  of  one  of  the  ports  for  help, 
till  I  remembered  you  had  no  boat.  If  I'd 
once  dreamed  that  you'd  have  suspected  me, 
I'd  have  fired  the  lot,  but  I  could  not  think 
that  and  it  never  entered  my  mind." 

George  paused  for  a  moment. 
"That  shows  you  what  jumping  at  conclusions 
too  quickly,  comes  to.  Here's  the  best  fellow  on 
earth,  seems  to  me,  and  we — at  least  I  did — yes,  I 
did,  I  wrote  him  off  as  a  scoundrel  right  from  the 
beginning — almost. ' ' 

' '  We  didn  't, "  cried  Tommie.  ' '  I  didn  't,  I  know 
I  felt  there  must  be  something  that  took  him  away. 
I  never  gave  up  hope  till  I  saw  you  all  standing  on 
the  deck  of  the  Wear  Jack  and  that  you  were 
scarcely  speaking  to  him,  and  that  he  didn't  seem 
to  be  explaining  things — I  don't  know  if  I  even 
quite  gave  up  then — oh,  dear ! ' ' 

Her  agitation  made  Hank  blaze  up. 
"Why  in  the  nation,"  he  cried,  "couldn't  he 
have  explained." 

"You  called  him  a  scoundrel,"  said  George. 
"He  saw  we'd  marked  him  down  without  trial, 
and  he  was  that  sort." 


THE  ANCHOR  TAKES  THE  MUD  269 

" Which  sort?" 

'  *  The  sort  that  will  kill  you  if  you  hit  its  pride, 
even  if  it  has  to  kill  itself.  I  expect  that  time  in 
the  foc'sle  with  Jake  was  pure  hell's  delight  to 
him,  feeling  he  was  making  us  miserable  and  being 
miserable  himself.  I  expect  he's  gloating  at  this 
present  minute  over  us  reading  this  letter  and 
being  unable  to  get  at  him  to  make  things  up. 
Gloating  with  pleasure,  yet  in  hell  all  the  time." 

"Why,  Bud,"  said  Hank,  "you're  talking  as  if 
you  knew  the  man's  mind  inside  out." 

' '  Maybe,  I  do, ' '  said  Bud.  *  *  Maybe  I  'm  not  such 
a  fool  as  I  look,  but  I  take  him  as  a  discontented 
man  who's  made  a  mess  of  his  life,  and  nicking 
on  him  and  calling  him  names  like  that  just  at 
that  moment,  finished  the  business." 

Tommie  nodded.    All  the  same  she  guessed  the 
case  to  be  a  bit  more  complicated  than  that. 
"Go  on  reading,"  she  said. 
George  went  on. 

"I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  couches  thinking 
what  to  do  and  I  heard  the  Chinks  pow-wow- 
ing  away  on  deck.  Talking  maybe  of  how  to 
get  rid  of  me.  Time  went  on  and  the  clock 
went  round  to  twelve,  that's  two  hours  after 
I  boarded  her,  then  Charlie  came  to  the  sky- 
light and  hailed  me.  He  said  they'd  taken  the 
ship  and  had  got  the, stuff  we  were  digging 
for.  He  asked  me  would  I  navigate  her  if  they 
let  me  out.  I  told  him  to  go  to  hell.  He  went 
off  and  time  went  on  and  then  I  heard  them 


270  VANDERDECKEN 

handling  the  halyards  and  getting  in  the  hook. 
They  didn't  shout  at  their  work,  went  silent 
as  cats.  Then  I  felt  the  ship  under  way. 

"Morning  came.  I  daren't  sleep  or  they'd 
have  been  down  on  me,  but  I  had  food  from 
the  lazarette  and  there  was  water  in  the 
swinging  bottle. 

"Charlie  came  again  that  day  to  know  if  I 
would  help  work  the  ship.  He  said  they  meant 
to  beach  her  on  the  Panama  coast  at  a  place 
they  knew  and  offered  me  a  share  in  the 
boodle.  I  told  him  I'd  fire  the  ship  first  and 
he  went  away. 

"That  night,  about  three  hours  after  dark 
as  far  as  I  could  guess,  for  the  clock  had  run 
down  and  I  hadn't  bothered  to  wind  it;  and 
they'd  taken  the  chronometer  with  the  charts 
on  deck,  a  smash  came  and  I  knew  the  fools 
had  piled  her.  I  heard  them  shouting  and 
pow-wowing.  The  sea  was  smooth  and  I  knew 
they  could  easy  get  away  if  they  didn't  foul 
the  boat  in  lowering  her.  They  got  her  over 
all  right  and  I  heard  them  putting  their 
dunnage  in,  grub  and  water,  too,  if  they 
weren't  crazy.  Then  I  heard  nothing  more. 
They'd  gone. 

"The  lamp  was  still  alight.  I'd  put  it  out 
in  the  day  time  and  lit  up  before  dark;  all 
the  same,  there  wasn't  much  oil  in  her.  So  I 
set  to  on  the  cabin  hatch  working  with  my 
knife.  I  left  off  to  get  one  of  the  automatics 


THE  ANCHOR  TAKES  THE  MUD     271 

to  see  if  I  couldn't  smash  up  the  wood  by 
firing,  when,  just  taking  it,  I  felt  a  draught 
of  air  blowing  towards  the  skylight.  I'd 
thought  of  getting  out  by  the  skylight,  but  the 
Chinks  had  thought  of  it  too,  and  they'd  over- 
laid it  with  ropes,  but  that  draught  blowing 
towards  it  gave  me  a  jog  and  I  made  down 
along  to  the  galley.  The  galley  hatch  was 
open. 

"The  Chinks  must  have  opened  it  before 
running  away,  reckoning  that  if  anything 
turned  up  and  they  were  caught  it  would  be 
lighter  for  them  if  they  hadn't  killed  me. 

"I  got  out  on  deck,  couldn't  see  the  boat. 
Then  I  opened  the  cabin  hatch  and  let  the 
air  in. 

*  *  Then  I  had  some  grub  and  laid  down  and 
went  asleep.    I  dreamt  I  heard  a  boat  coming 
alongside.    I  tumbled  out  and  came  on  deck 
and  found  my  pals. 
"You  know  the  rest. 

"BoB  CANDON." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

VANDEEDECKEN 

CANDON   with   his   bundle   under   his   arm 
walked  from  the  stage  where  George  had 
landed  him  to  the  ferry  wharf.    He  did  not 
intend   staying   at   Tiburon,   he   wanted   to   lose 
himself,   put  himself   beyond  possible   reach   of 
Hank  and  George.    He  was  waiting  for  the  San 
Francisco  ferry. 

He  felt  uplifted,  light-headed,  full  and  satisfied 
with  the  knowledge  that  George  Du  Cane  and  the 
others  would  be  reading  his  letter  by  now.  He 
had  revenged  himself  on  himself,  on  society,  and 
on  his  companions.  Right  from  his  first  joining  in 
with  Hank  and  George,  under  everything  had  lain 
the  fact  that  he  was  an  outlaw,  coupled  with  the 
fact  that  he  had  joined  the  Wear  Jack  through 
subterfuge.  His  confession  at  San  Nicolas  had 
seemingly  cleared  the  slate,  yet  the  fact  remained ; 
you  cannot  confess  a  fact  away.  He  had  been 
forgiven  by  Hank  and  Bud,  and  Tommie  had 
declared  her  opinion  that  he  would  be  all  right 
with  the  Almighty  when  he'd  prayed  himself  out 
of  the  hole  he  was  in  by  hard  work  and  the 

272 


VANDERDECKEN  273 

restoration  of  the  jewels.  Just  so.  Yet  the  fact 
remained  that  he  had  run  crooked. 

It  had  been  like  a  grit  in  the  eye.  Sometimes 
he  did  not  feel  it,  other  times  he  did,  but  it  had 
been  there  all  the  time. 

It  was  his  sense  of  inferiority  always  fretting 
his  pride,  his  pride  always  fretful  that  had, 
perhaps,  brought  about  the  end  of  everything. 

A  lesser  man  or  a  greater  man  might  have 
defended  himself,  explained  or  tried  to  explain. 

He  took  his  place  in  the  ferry  boat,  crammed 
with  the  usual  crowd.  At  it  drew  off  from  the 
wharf,  he  saw  the  Heart  of  Ireland  as  she  lay  at 
anchor.  There  was  a  figure  on  deck,  it  was  Jake, 
the  others  were  evidently  down  below.  What  were 
they  saying,  what  were  they  doing?  He  watched 
the  old  schooner  as  she  dimmed  away  into  the 
distance  across  the  breezy  water,  then  he  turned 
and  looked  at  San  Francisco  standing  before  him 
in  a  blaze  of  light,  the  Palace  Hotel,  the  hills 
veined  with  streets,  the  docks  and  shipping,  all  so 
vast,  so  indifferent,  brilliant,  self-possessed  and 
cruel. 

Nature  in  her  worst  moods  has  made  nothing 
more  daunting  than  a  city.  Candon  had  never 
felt  this  as  he  felt  it  now.  The  Wear  Jack  had 
been  a  home  and  he  and  his  companions  almost 
a  family.  In  all  the  city  he  had  not  a  friend. 
That  is  the  worst  of  a  sailor's  life;  unless  he 
rises  to  the  command  of  a  ship  and  keeps  it,  the 
end  of  each  voyage  often  means  a  break-up  and 


274  VANDERDECKEN 

separation  from  the  men  he  sails  with  and  the  best 
friends  part  never  to  meet  again.  The  sailor  has 
no  time  ashore  to  make  friends  and  the  friends  he 
makes  at  sea  he  loses. 

Candon  landed  at  the  wharf  and  made  for  Essex 
Street  where  he  had  put  up  before.  No.  12  was 
the  house,  an  humble  enough  place,  but  clean  and 
respectable,  kept  by  a  widow  whose  husband  had 
been  captain  of  one  of  the  Oakland  ferry  boats. 

He  obtained  a  room,  left  his  bundle  and  started 
out  making  up  town.  He  had  no  object  in  view. 
In  the  old  days  he  would  most  likely  have  drifted 
into  a  tavern,  met  companions  and  maybe  friends 
under  the  freemasonry  of  drink;  but  those  days 
are  done  with.  Drink  he  could  have  got,  poison, 
swallowed  in  a  corner  at  five  or  ten  times  the 
price  of  the  old  stuff,  but,  though  several  touts 
spoke  to  him,  recognising  a  man  from  the  sea,  he 
turned  them  down.  Passing  from  street  to  street 
without  caring  where  he  went,  the  fact  of  his  own 
isolation  was  borne  in  on  him  by  every  sight  and 
sound.  All  these  people  had  businesses,  friends, 
acquaintances.  He  had  none.  If  he  were  to  drop 
dead  not  a  soul  would  care. 

He  found  himself  amongst  the  sharp-faced 
hustling  crowd  of  Market  Street  and  drifted  with 
it,  scarcely  seeing  it,  looking  in  at  shop  windows 
but  scarcely  noticing  the  goods.  He  was  not 
walking  alone  now;  the  wraiths  of  Hank  and 
George  and  Tommie  were  with  him,  walking  on 
either  side  of  him,  and  now  in  some  extraordinary 


VANDERDECKEN  275 

way  his  anger  and  enmity  against  them,  against 
himself  and  against  circumstances  had  faded.  It 
was  as  though  they  were  dead. 

The  loneliness  of  the  great  city,  the  very  atmos- 
phere of  it  had  seized  upon  him,  cut  him  off  from 
those  past  few  brilliant  weeks  of  adventure  and 
stress.  He  could  no  longer  feel  as  he  felt  then. 
He  tried,  remembering  how  they  had  pro-judged 
him,  to  work  up  his  feelings  of  only  a  few  hours 
ago,  but  the  old  anger  would  not  come.  He  had 
left  it  behind  him  on  the  Heart  of  Ireland  or, 
maybe,  on  the  ferry  boat.  Anger  would  not  come, 
because  the  way  was  barred  by  a  new-found  sense 
of  reason  that  kept  saying  to  him,  "Well,  suppose 
they  did  ?  Look  at  the  facts — they  made  a  mistake 
— you  were  furious  because  you  were  innocent, 
but  were  you  made  of  glass  so  that  they  could  see 
your  innocence  ?  Not  you ;  why  you  were  Vander- 
decken.  You  had  already  done  a  shady  trick  by 
getting  on  board  the  Wear  Jack  under  that  con- 
tract; you  were  no  white  lamb.  Facts  were 
against  you  and  you  were  too  proud  to  explain — 
that's  the  truth — and  you  had  a  grudge  against 
everything.  Well  there  it  is  and  no  more  to  be 
said." 

He  went  into  a  picture  house  and  sat  for  ten 
minutes  and  came  out  again  and  had  some  food. 

It  was  evening  now  and  the  lamps  were  spring- 
ing alight.  He  wandered  down  towards  the  docks, 
Hank,  Bud  and  Tommie  still  clinging  to  him,  and 
Reason,  refreshed  with  a  porter-house  steak, 


276  VANDERDECKEN 

clearing  her  throat  to  say  something.  Then  in 
Tallis  Street  where  the  crimps  abide,  she  said  it. 

"Swab!"  Then  she  began  to  rub  it  in.  "You 
wrote  that  letter.  Every  line  you  wrote,  down 
there  in  the  foc'sle  of  the  Heart,  was  pure  joy. 
You  said  to  yourself,  'When  they  read  this  they 
will  suffer.'  That's  what  you  said  and  what  you 
felt.  You  didn't  write  to  explain,  you  wrote 
to  hit." 

That  was  the  truth. 

They  were  the  best  people  he  had  ever  met  and 
he  had  wounded  them  all  he  could.  Done  all  he 
could  to  make  them  feel  mean  and  small. 

If  they  had  not  been  the  best  people,  the  letter 
would  have  had  no  effect ;  if  he  had  not  loved  them, 
the  odious  pleasure  of  writing  it  would  not  have 
been  there.  If  he  had  not  loved  them,  he  would 
not  have  struck  them,  struck  them  with  the 
feverish  anger  of  the  child  that  breaks  and 
destroys  the  thing  it  cares  for. 

He  walked  on,  making  towards  the  water  side, 
reviewing  himself  and  his  futilities. 

Impulse  and  a  volcanic  nature  had  been  his  ruin 
right  along  from  the  first — and  pride.  And  the 
devil  of  it  was  his  impulse  had  always  been — or 
nearly  always — towards  the  good.  Why,  look 
away  back  to  the  time  when  he  commanded  a  ship 
and  had  been  fired  for  a  volcanic  letter  to  the 
owners  for  supplying  his  crew  with  "grub  that  a 
dog  wouldn't  eat."  And  he  had  chucked  a  good 
chance  to  go  and  fight  in  a  war  that  had  nothing 


VANDERDECKEN  277 

to  do  with  him,  just  because  the  Lusitania  had 
been  torpedoed.  Look  at  the  McGinnis  business. 
Look  at  everything. 

A  man  rarely  sees  himself  in  the  glass  of  mind. 
When  he  does  the  image  is  rarely  quite  true. 
Candon  saw  a  reflection  uglier  than  the  reality.  At 
all  events  it  was  a  good  thing  that  he  saw  it.  Then 

he  went  home  and  tried  to  sleep  and  could  not. 

*     *     * 

At  ten  o'clock  next  morning,  he  found  himself 
in  Pacific  Avenue,  asking  his  way.  At  five  minutes 
past  ten,  he  was  coming  up  the  steps  of  a  residence 
with  Purbeckian  marble  pillars  to  the  door-way. 

He  rang  and  Farintosh  opened.  Farintosh  did 
not  know  if  Mr.  du  Cane  were  in;  he  would  see. 
He  returned  in  a  minute  and  ushered  Candon  into 
a  librar}7  where  Bud,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  was 
re-arranging  some  books.  Bud  had  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth. 

Farintosh  shut  the  door  and  the  two  men  were 
left  alone. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Bud.  There  was  no  warmth 
in  his  tone.  He  seemed  a  different  man  from  the 
Bud  of  the  Wear  Jack,  older,  more  serious.  Old 
Harley  du  Cane  with  his  rose  in  his  coat  and  his 
air  of  a  flaneur,  could  sometimes  crystallize  into 
awful  and  icy  seriousness,  the  man  of  pleasure 
suddenly  becoming  the  man  of  affairs,  cold,  logical 
with  something  of  the  touch  of  the  judge. 

"I've  come  to  say  I  haven't  treated  you  people 
well,"  said  Candon.  "I'll  never  see  you  again,  so 


278  VANDERDECKEN 

I  wanted  just  to.  say  that.  I  couldn't  sit  down 
under  it  any  longer.  Couldn't  sleep  to-night  with- 
out saying  what  I  wanted  to  say.  I  shouldn't  have 
given  up  that  letter." 

''You  shouldn't,"  said  Bud.  He  was  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  fireplace  now,  with  his  pipe 
in  his  mouth.  "I'm  not  wanting  to  rub  it  in,  but 
you've  crumpled  Tommie  up.  Steady  on,  and  let 
me  talk.  I  'm  the  man  you  ought  to  have  a  grouch 
against,  for  when  the  Wear  Jack  went  off,  I  was 
the  first  to  say  you'd  taken  your  hook.  I  had  to 
kick  Hank  to  make  him  believe.  Hank's  a  good 
sort,  much  better  than  me,  much  better  than  you, 
much  better  than  any  of  us.  He  believed  in  you, 
so  did  Tommie.  Well,  now,  see  here,  B.  C.,  I'm 
not  going  to  apologise  to  you  for  being  mistaken 
and  for  writing  you  down  worse  than  you  were, 
for  the  facts  were  all  dead  against  you,  and  it  was 
no  pleasure  to  me  to  think  you'd  hooked  it.  It  cut 
me  bad.  Let's  forget  it  and  come  to  the  point. 
I  guess  the  Almighty  sent  you  here  to-night  for 
me  to  deal  with  and  I'm  going  to  deal  with  you 
straight.  One  moment." 

He  left  the  room,  and  Candon  heard  him  calling 
for  Farintosh  and  giving  some  directions,  then  he 
returned,  took  his  place  on  the  hearth  rug  and 
went  on. 

"Yes,  I  guess  he  did.    "What  are  your  plans T" 

"Foc'sle." 

"Yes,  the  foc'sle  of  some  wind-jammer,  fine 
time  and  fine  prospects.  Well,  I've  made  different 


VANDERDECKEN  .       279 

plans  for  you,  made  them  long  ago,  dropped  them 
when  that  beastly  business  happened,  but  I've 
picked  them  up  again,  right  now." 

"I  reckon  a  dive  into  the  harbour  would  be  the 
best  plan  for  me,"  said  Candon.  He  was  seated 
with  his  arms  folded,  wilted,  miserable.  He  was 
thinking  of  Tommie  and  what  Bud  had  said  about 
her. 

"It  would,"  said  Bud,  "if  you  are  an  ass  and 
don't  fall  in  with  what  I  want  to  do." 

"Yes?" 

"You've  got  to  take  my  money,  work  and  pay 
me  back — fruit  farm  or  ranch.  Quit  the  sea,  the 
sea's  no  use  to  you,  B.  C.,  and  I  tell  you  that 
straight. ' ' 

"It's  good  of  you,"  said  the  other  shaking  his 
head.  "It's  darn  good  of  you,  Bud  du  Cane — you 
said  that  before.  It's  not  my  pride.  I  reckon 
I've  no  pride  left,  but  where 's  the  good?  I  guess 
I'm  too  far  gone  for  any  man  to  help  me.  I've 
lost  clutch  of  myself  in  the  last  two  days.  I  tell 
you  it's  as  if  I'd  been  boiled  and  my  back-bone 
taken  out  of  me.  I'm  changed,  that's  a  fact.  All 
my  life  I've  never  lost  confidence  in  myself  till 
now.  You  remember  how  I  took  the  Wear  Jack 
out  of  harbour  that  night?  I  could  no  more  do 
that  now  than  I  could  fly — I've  lost  confidence  in 
myself. 

"And  maybe  a  good  thing,  too,"  said  George. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Candon,  "maybe  it's  good 
or  bad,  but  there's  the  fact.  A  while  ago  I  was  a 


280  VANDERDECKEN 

man  who  could  lead  things,  now  I  feel  all  I  want 
is  to  take  orders." 

"Good,"  said  George,  "and  now  you're  talking 
like  a  man.  What  do  you  think  a  man  is,  anyway! 
Why,  till  he  learns  to  take  orders,  he  hasn't  got 
the  makings  of  a  man  in  him.  And  now  I'm  going 
to  give  you  your  orders,  B.  C.  You've  got  to 
make  a  home  for  a  girl  that  cares  for  you.  She's 
got  money  enough  of  her  own,  but  you  can't  take 
a  woman's  money,  but  you  can  take  mine  as  a  loan, 
and  if  you  don't  make  good,  why  you  aren't  the 
man  I  think  you  are. ' ' 

"Cares  for  me  I"  said  Candon,  as  though  he 
were  a  bit  deaf  and  not  sure  that  he  had  caught 
the  other's  words. 

"Yes,  unless  I  have  no  sense  or  judgment  left. 
But  she'll  tell  you  herself  in  a  minute.  I've  sent 
for  her." 

He  left  the  room. 

Candon  got  up  and  walked  to  and  fro  for  a  long 
time,  his  hands  behind  his  back.  Then  he  lifted 
up  his  chin  and  gazed  before  him  with  those  clear 
eyes  trained  to  look  over  vast  distances. 

The  manhood  had  come  back  to  him  with  the  call 
to  a  greater  adventure  than  any  he  had  ever 
undertaken. 

He  heard  an  automobile  drawing  up  in  the 
street — voices.  Then  the  door  opened  and  Tommie 

stood  before  him.    It  closed,  leaving  them  alone. 

•     *     * 

That  is  the  story  of  Vanderdecken  as  told  to 


VANDERDECKEN  281 

me  by  Hank  Fisher.  The  story  of  a  man  of 
temperament  saved  from  himself  by  a  woman.  I 
met  George  chi  Cane  at  Pasadena  a  little  while 
ago  and  he  corroborated  the  tale  giving  me  a  few 
extra  details  left  out  by  Hank.  George  said  Tyre- 
buck  collected  his  insurance  all  right  on  the  Wear 
Jack,  also  that  McGinnis  and  his  crowd  managed 
to  escape  from  the  Mexicans,  and,  making  down 
the  coast,  were  rescued  by  a  tanker  which  had  put 
into  Santa  Clara  Bay  owing  to  a  defect  in  her 
machinery.  They  returned  to  San  Francisco,  but 
made  no  trouble,  or  only  with  Mrs.  McGinnis,  who 
had  sold  the  Heart  of  Ireland  and  invested  the 
money  in  a  laundry,  thinking  McGinnis  dead. 

Hank  married  his  girl  quite  recently  and 
Candon  and  Tommie  are  happy,  but  the  thing 
uppermost  in  George's  mind  in  connection  with 
this  business  was  the  treasure. 

He  took  an  old  press  cutting  from  his  pocket 
book  and  showed  it  to  me.  It  gave  news  of  a 
boatful  of  dead  Chinamen  found  and  sunk  by  the 
British  cruiser  Hesperia  down  by  the  Galapagos 
Islands. 

"They'd  have  sunk  it  maybe  with  a  shell,"  said 
George;  "it  would  have  given  them  fine  target 
practice  for  one  of  their  small  guns  and  they'd 
never  have  overhauled  it  for  jewelry. 

"It's  a  hundred  to  one  it  was  the  boat  of  the 
Wear  Jack.  The  Wear  Jack's  whaler  had  no  name 
on  it,  and  it's  just  the  position  they'd  have  been 
in  by  drifting.  You  see  the  Kiro  Shiwo  would 


282  VANDERDECKEN 

have  brought  them  down  past  the  line  and  then 
they'd  have  met  Humboldt's  current;  that  would 
have  pushed  them  back,  and  there  they'd  have 
been  drifting  and  messing  about  when  the  Hes- 
peria  came  along.  Anyhow,"  finished  George, 
" whatever 's  become  of  those  jewels,  they've 
never  been  seen  since,  and  it 's  my  opinion,  they  '11 
never  be  seen  again. ' ' 

THE   END. 


A     000124937     4 


